Letters
by ivyflightislistening
Summary: After STWAOES. The Voice told Max to try living a normal life for one year and Jeb tracked down Fang and Nudge's parents. Fang's in Montana, Max in AZ. This is their story as they keep in touch and find out what home, love, and friendship really mean.
1. Pompeii

June 14th

Well, it was official. I know, took us long enough, right? But with a little compromise, some arguing and inner turmoil, not to mention the help of both mom and the Voice, we had finally come to a conclusion. The flock (meaning the youngest three) had decided that we wanted to try and see what "normal" really meant. As of yet, it was a strange and new concept that the younger members especially wanted to try out. Me? I tried to talk them out of it while disguising my pain at all the ways I had failed them, and when I realized they couldn't be persuaded that the flock was six birdkids plus a mutt, I helped the helped arrange the whole thing.

Nudge insisted to me that we were still six parts of a whole and that we were just trying something new, just like they say in those cheesy breakups scenes from ABC Family Original Movies. Even though my heart was being ripped into shreds doing so (hadn't we _just _decided never to leave each other again?) breaking up was essentially what we were doing. Just as the Voice came along saying that part of our mission was to take a while to see what the rest of the world was really like, get a glimpse of the lives I had to say, Jeb came along with some new info, deciding that we deserved to know the truth. We had tracked down relatives, planned cozy chats between them, Jeb, and mom, and now Nudge was off to Pennsylvania with the siblings and Total, and Fang was prepping for a year in Montana.

Nudge's newfound mother was all too willing to allow Angel and Gaz to come along, giddy with excitement that her daughter wasn't dead. She had shown a rough-and-tough exterior when Jeb visited the first few times, but had reportedly burst into tears when sharing about Nudge and not even caring about the wings. They had already met once and looked so much alike that there was no doubt in my mind that this was the real thing. This made it slightly easier to wave as the group boarded the plane heading to Philadelphia and not burst into tears in full view of the public.

Yeah, I'd been worried about safety, but mom assured me this was all top secret, and though I was still a little unsure, Angel and the Voice clarified this for me. I figured between the four of them, they could stay relatively safe. According to Jeb, Itex and co. were still recovering from the blow that Nudge, Ang, Total, Fang's faithful bloggers, and I had inflicted and were probably too caught up in repairs to worry about us. This did nothing, again, until Angel clarified that he wasn't lying, and then it only abated my anxiety slightly.

On the other hand, our only other successful lead had been Fang. Point blank, he had not wanted to go, insisting to the end that this was a bad idea. But I remembered that night back in New York when he had muttered, "a teenager, jeez" and said that she was probably on drugs. He hadn't let the others see this pain. He must have felt like his life was a screw up from the beginning. But here she was, his biological mother. She lived alone in the Montana mountains, ran a horse barn, and taught people how to play the piano. Jeb said she had always been straight edge, that she was a practical woman. I hadn't met her or even seen a picture, but Angel had went with mom and Jeb to meet her when she flew to Phoenix for an interview. She seemed real, not like Iggy's "mother" or the Director in Germany, and Fang deserved a chance at normal, too.

The most prevalent of my problems with Fang being in Montana was his solidarity. As nice as Angel said his mother was, she was apparently short and scrawny, not exactly capable of kicking an Eraser's chest in. When it cropped up that he would not only be in Montana, where I have heard that there are more bighorn sheep than people, but in a very rural area with sketchy cell coverage, we had all nearly flipped our lids. As we learned in New York, there is often safety in numbers. This was before anything was final and we all realized how alone Fang would be if anything went wrong.

Of course, being him, he had scoffed at this and said (if he decided to go) that he would be fine. Iggy, deciding between staying with either Fang or me thanks to his deadbeat parents, said he would go. Thus ensued an argument that basically went like this:

Fang: He should stay here.

Me: I'm fine, I'm the leader, and you'll be in the middle of freaking nowhere.

Fang: No one will know I'm there.

Me: But if they do-

Fang: They won't-

Me: You would have no one to fall back one-

Fang: Neither would you-

And on, and on. Finally, Iggy flipped a coin. Heads=Arizona, tails=Montana. He had flipped tails, and I had won.

This just made me realize how much I had lost.

It's not that I wasn't looking forward to a bed to sleep in, regular meals, and quality time with my newfound family, but they would never replace the people I had grown up with, faced death with. So before I get too sentimetal on you, we set ground rules:

-We would live with our families for a year.

-We would keep in contact regularly enough so that we would know we weren't kidnapped/murdered in a ditch/stuck in a lab, etc. but not too much, as the goal was to see what the lives of normal people were like. Plus I bet long distance calls are expensive. This was Nudge's idea, and I tried not to let that hurt too much.

-NO PUBLICITY STUNTS. This was my idea.

-At the end of the year, 365 days after Ig and Fang left and 366 after the kids' flight departed Phoenix, we would meet at an old haunt from when we lived in the Colorado Mountains. It was miles from our old house and therefore deemed safe, and we all knew the secret cave like the back of our hands. I instructed the younger set to call either Fang or I before setting out on this long haul. They were furthest, which was another fly in my ointment, but we didn't know anywhere permanent closer to Philly.

They had been gone four hours already, I realized as I glanced at the microwave clock in mom's kitchen. Ella would be home from her lacrosse game soon-the last of the season, starting after school that afternoon-and mom had already served up dinner. It was lasagna and homemade garlic bread, and the kitchen was warm with the work of the oven and the sun's dying rays. I had never seen a more delicious lasagne, the cheese, noodles, and red sauce all combined into an edible masterpiece, but I could only nibble at the crust of a bread slice. Mom had left to pick Ella up, telling us to start without them, but we remaining three were silent as the grave. I wasn't even sure where Magnolia was, the absence of her snuffling and sniffing making the house seem empty.

"Damn." Iggy muttered, pushing his empty plate aside. "It's so quiet. I feel like I need to break something just so I know I'm not going crazy. If you act this way all year, Max, the Voice will just have us do it again because you'll be too busy worrying to learn what it wants us to."

I kicked him under the table more out of habit than need. No innocent minds to be influenced today!

"Yeah well," I attempted to brush off the even heavier silence that followed his comment. "Please don't. No need to tick off the Martinez's before you even leave."

Iggy rolled his sightless eyes. "Dr. M would be angry at me, she likes you. You'd be in no extra danger if I blew up the microwave in the back yard."

"As far as you know. For all we do, she could be planning my murder as soon as you two are specks in the distance."

I had been kidding, of course. I think I already loved my mom and half sister, and if my flock wasn't separating, I would have been looking forward to spending a year with the pair. I wasn't planning on going to school, and the free time would be nice (if I didn't spend the whole freaking time tearing my hair out with a range of emotions I preferred not to feel) but at my comment, Fang dropped the fork he had been twirling around in his hand to clatter against the plate and practically bolted from the room. Iggy and I both looked down at our own empty plates, and I didn't need Ig's next comment to know that Fang had not found the humor in my sarcasm. We put our clean dishes away in silence.

XXXXX

Fang and Iggy had refused to take a plane to Montana and had taken off from mom's yard early that morning. As they extended their wings and readjusted their packs, it took all my strength not to rush out and hug the pair of them. Instead I raised a hand and waved, calling "bye" to Ig. They both looked in my direction, but Fang seemed to understand with that one glance. I hate it how he can read my mind like that.

"We'll call you when we get there." He assured me quietly. "See ya."

I gulped, not trusting my voice as my two best friends, the two people I had known my entire life, took to the air without me and soon became two faceless dots on the horizon. Because of my raptor sight, I had the agony of watching them for a good hour, and I stayed lying in the sparse grass for a long time after that. This was a good thing. So why did I feel like my heart had been torn to shreds?

Mom's house is small, but the builders did what they could with the allotted space. The main entrance is at the center of the porch and enters into a hallway with a set of stairs and doors to the side. Mom says multilevel houses are unusual for Arizona, but the people who had built this one had moved from the east and wanted to maintain some sense of their original home. Downstairs was a small kitchen, smaller bathroom, and a comfortable living room with cushy seats and a very large TV. Go up the creaking wooden staircase and you would find a bathroom, a study, mom and Ella's bedrooms, and a guest room. It had a bed backed against the far wall under a window, a closet, and a small bookshelf with a cute little lamp on top. This was, for a year, my room. Ella had helped unload all of my things, which only taken about five minutes because she had insisted on hanging everything and I'd never done so in my life. The closet now boasted two pairs of jeans, two t-shirts, and a sweatshirt that I was sure I wouldn't be using in this heat. My sneakers were at the foot of my bed, and my socks and similar clothing in a shoebox at the bottom of the closet.

Though I had spent the last few nights camping in the living room with my guys, I had looked through the bookshelf for something to read in my (gasp!) spare time. As of yet, I was about halfway through _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone._ I had asked Ella for something easy to start with, not being a particularly avid reader, and she had come back five minutes later with a stack and brief synopsis on her tongue.

I flopped onto the hand-quilted blanket thrown across the bed, an array of soft blues and yellows that my mom's mom (my grandmother?) had made. Ella had one on her bed, as well. The window brought in a soft night breeze, making me grateful for the comforting warmth of the quilt as I flipped open to my bookmark. However, rather than a scrap of newspaper holding my place in the abused volume, I found a folded square of notebook paper. My name was labeled in a very familiar scrawl and I found myself having trouble breathing in my anticipation. What was Fang up to?

I didn't waste time guessing and unfolded it.

_Max-_

_I'm not a fan of this separation thing-we just tried it, and I thought we weren't going to do it again-but what's done is done and I'll give it a try for the kids. I have a feeling you're thinking along the same lines._

_Anyway, keep in touch. You know the address and number, or send a message on the blog. Hold on the pen names like QT_PI_fang_luvr though, or I may have to come back down there and kill you. Not that I need to tell you-anyway._

I was laughing now, holding the paper in one hand with the other over my mouth. I could nearly imagine him stammering through the short letter and even though it had only been about twelve hours since I had last seen him, even though I had grown very good at hiding my emotions from everyone including myself, it made the absence of my best friend even sharper. God, I missed him. Truth is-the truth I would never ever _ever _admit to him-is that sometimes I want to throw him in front of oncoming traffic, but the I'd kill myself trying to get him out.

_It's only a few states away. And call if you need to, understand? Don't pull the invincible crap because it doesn't work on anyone you've known longer than you've known Iggy-ahem-_

_Later,_

_ Fang_

_Oh, and watch out for yourself. Don't give Dr. M any excuse to murder you, like setting fire to the kitchen. Not that Dr. M would kill you-I don't think, anyway-just try to enjoy the time off. Don't spend the whole time worrying._

I rolled over, clicking off the reading light and slipping under the covers.

"Watch out for yourself, Fang." I whispered, rolling my eyes but keeping the letter tight in my hands as I fell asleep.

Day 2

Scratchy bark pricked at my skin through my cutoffs. I was up near the top of a tree in the backyard. It was short, nothing to those in Colorado, but it was a shady refuge to the midday heat. In one hand I had a sparkly pink pen, nabbed from Ella's school things, and the other a little postcard picked up from town. Yesterday was my sister's last day of school, and her room was now littered with all that had collected in her locker. I had looked through some of her textbooks and folders and for the most part, found it unbearable. Mom had asked the pair of us to put it all in neat and piles and find homes for all the junk-which I'm _so _good at, as you know-but we had fallen into a pattern that went very similar to this.

Me: What's this?

Ella: My French textbook.

Me: You know _French_?

Ella: _shrugging_. Yeah, it's nothing big. Lots of schools offer second languages. In my school, Spanish is most popular. Most kids think its easiest, and Latin is hardest. There's only about fifteen kids in my grade who take Latin.

Now, call me naïve, but the concept of taking another language in school seems kind of crazy. I guess it's sensible, but I've hardly had the time to learn to read English, let alone something I didn't speak everyday. Granted, I suppose that's the reason the Voice wanted us to take this break, figure out what people did when they weren't busting heads with Erasers. Frankly, I think I preferred Erasers once I saw Ella's pre-algebra book. Even though by law you have to attend school in the US, and how much I hated my experience there, it seemed like a luxury. I felt more comfortable beating up Erasers because I was used to it-but wouldn't it be nice if my failing meant a retake, rather than losing my life?

That would never cause me to willingly try school, mind you. One thing I did know, however, was biology. Ella's eyebrows skyrocketed when I was able to list the kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species for all the organisms she was supposed to look up as summer homework. Once she had scribbled these down and pinned them to her wall for next fall, she turned back at me.

"Mr. Jefferson would love you." She had said, but then laughed. "Whether you would like Mr. Jefferson is a different matter. He's very… eccentric."

After lunch we had headed into town so mom and Ells could show me around. They bought me another pair of shorts and some more shirts, but I refused any more.

"Max, I'd give you my hand me downs if that would make you feel better," Ella told me, looking up. "But you're a little big."

I made a derisive noise and herded them out of the store. Shopping finished, we went out for ice cream. Highlight of the day. This was where I found that you can tell a lot about a person by their ice cream flavors. Mom had chosen Purple Cow in a dish, she was minimalistic and liked sweet things. Ella had Electric Dinosaur, a psychedelic mix of colors, candy, nuts, and coconut shavings. Ella was outgoing, bubbly, and always had a funny story to share. I had Deathly Double Chocolate-chocolate ice cream with chocolate swirls, chocolate chips, and chocolate sprinkles. I think that's self explanatory about my personality. Whitecoats had never tried bribing me with chocolate-I bet it would have worked.

In the store, they had some Arizona postcards that I picked through while we waited for our ice cream, and mom said I could pick one out if I wanted. I had been about to refuse, but then remembered something, and snatched one for before we checked out. In the tree, I was now trying to figure out what to write. _Dear Fang, miss you and everyone. Arizona's hot. Ella and I had a water balloon fight_ would definitely not work. I couldn't sound like a complete sap while writing and wouldn't want him to think I wasn't enjoying myself, because I was. Hanging with mom and my sister was a lot of fun, but they never replace my six favorite people in the whole world.

I glanced at the front of the card again; a little cactus wren perched among the thorns of a saguaro.

_Keep in touch._ Replayed my head. If Fang could interrupt Harry's first Quidditch match with that, I could reply.

Day Six

"Fang! You've got a letter!"

Fang glanced up toward his biological mother, calling from the porch. When he had arrived, he had almost laughed. The place looked like it had been summoned out a tourism ad. The small house, dominated by the hills and mountains in the distance with the picturesque barn, was about five miles from town. Idyllic. Quiet. Isolated. Fang no longer doubted the pamphlet he had read that said that there was reason to believe that there were more Bighorn Sheep in Montana than people. When she overheard him mention this to Iggy, the woman had also told the pair to not make any hick jokes during their stay.

"Why, will they come after us with pitchforks?" Iggy chuckled. Brook Hufftalen raised an eyebrow, then turned on her heel and left. _Because it's rude_ was the nonvocal reply. Iggy hadn't made any hick jokes. But the place certainly seemed wild enough. Both he and Iggy had agreed that they liked the isolation, though they still had to be careful. She earned her wages through riding and piano lessons, but the boys avoided the people.

When She called, he and Iggy had just landed in the nearby woods. Dinner was promptly at 6:30 every night, and they weren't going to complain about the time when it was practically free food. It was really the only thing the woman strictly enforced. Plus, more often than not, Iggy was cooking it.

"Wonder who it's from." Iggy glanced in his general direction, taking up a jog as they crested the hill toward the house. "I'd guess Max or Nudge, unless one of your creepy Fangirls has found you."

"_What_?"

"Well, they're obviously not sane like normal fan girls," Ig said conversationally, laughing as he imagined Fang's retort. "Fangirls are a different breed. No one knows where they originated, but they've found you now."

Fang just shook his head, using Her as an excuse to ignore Ig, who was laughing hysterically and not even out of breath as they met her at the top of the hill. She handed an envelope to him, addressed simply as "Please give to Fang."

"It was inside a letter addressed here." She answered his unspoken question, and it took Fang a minute to get over how much she sounded like Max when she did that. He nodded thanks and followed her into the dining room, but wasn't until after dinner, which she and Iggy had chatted through, mostly about the surrounding woods, fields, and the wildlife living there, that he finally got to read it. She had warned them about the mountain lions and grizzlies, but Fang wasn't completely lacking in survival skills and tuned it out, puzzling and infuriated that his life had come to this. Iggy loved casual talk and finding new ways to cook things, especially but other people. But for Fang, dinner was a painful process of choking food down as fast as possible and wondering about the letter burning a hole in his pocket.

"Just call me if there are any hiding in your room!" Iggy called, putting the finishing touches on some cupcakes once it was _finally _over.

"Shut up!" Fang hissed, darting up the stairs before he was wrangled into anything else.

"Any what?" He heard _her _ask.

"Fangirls." Iggy replied jovially. "They post comments on his blog and virtually stalk him to find his whereabouts. They can get awfully violent-I wouldn't suggest being a female within a one mile radius."

Fang checked himself so he wouldn't slam the door and fuel Iggy's fire. Instead, he sat down with his back to it and ripped open the letter.

It was a postcard.

Inside an envelope?

And in _pink ink?_

_Fang-_

_First of all, I got a postcard, but then realized I shouldn't/couldn't send it to you directly and I'd have to put in an envelope anyway, so there's really no point in this scrap of paper unless you are particularly fond of cactus wrens. If so, you'll have to let me know so I can get some more pictures for you. Mom is planning on taking Ella and I to some desert preserve to check out night life. I suppose your reply would be a little late if you do happen to harbor some love of wrens I was previously unaware of, but I'll get some pictures anyway. I tried to write small but this card is even smaller. Write back! –Max. Tell Iggy hi._

First, Fang grabbed a pen and paper, and then decided that, as a whole, postcards were useless.

Day Eight

_How did you know? I simply adore wrens, particularly those of the cactus variety. I appreciate your foresight in thinking of me in this way._

_Now, in the reality where I don't use words like "adore" and "foresight," I said "hi" to Ig for you. He was convinced that your letter was from stalkers on the blog and spent the amount of time it took him to ice fifty cupcakes to describe to Miss Hufftalen the woman the maternal figure Brook Miss H my mom _(these were all crossed out. He evidentally didn't know what to call her.) _Her about Fangirls vs. fan girls (you've heard the rant, and hopefully Iggy's screams after I'm through with him) and how they have a tendency to stalk me, stake out my whereabouts, threaten anyone within a mile of me, and that he couldn't believe she hadn't been warned before letting us stay with her. She came upstairs laughing, so I'm hoping she understood that he's psycho and that no way in hell would I allow anyone matching Iggy's description of these girls anywhere near me._

_So I'm assuming that after you read "fifty cupcakes," you didn't pay any attention to my rant on Iggy. Go back and read it. It's hilarious. Anyway. The story for the cupcakes is that the riding season starts tomorrow, since summer vacation for the locals began today and she starts the season with cupcakes. I asked if there were enough kids in the village to eat fifty cupcakes, but she rolled her eyes and said that there were twelve campers (for her riding day camp) and if each had two that's twenty-four and she assumed Iggy and I would both have some (thirty-four) and that left sixteen for her, the parents, and her two counselors. Who said math was dead? Once she explained, it was pretty sensible, but Ig and I are heading for the hills tomorrow (with our cupcakes) to avoid the crowds. Plus, I guess it is cool out here. We're in a typical "Wild West" scenario. Mountains and forest but also sort of prairie-like hills. Best of both worlds, I guess. We're about five miles from town, which is pretty small even then, but __mom__Brook__ she said not to discriminate because plenty of people don't know how to ride horses, do not herd buffalo, or follow any such biases. I said that I had wings and didn't judge people by hometown or personal appearance. She just raised her eyebrows and went back to repairing the pillow on the piano bench (she also give piano lessons. If she's not holed up in her study or down at the barn or reading with her dog, Mr. Darcy, she's playing piano.)_

_Iggy also says hi, and I quote, "stay away from drugs, alcohol, foul language, and things people censor for public viewing." He also had some questions to confirm whether you were actually a Fangirl. He's lucky if I don't bait a mountain lion with him tomorrow._

_So since I decided that postcards are lame (uh, no space. Nice pen by the way. The sparkles were a real nice touch. Are your nails the same color?) but I like pictures, I put a few in the envelope as well. The first is from Ig's disposable camera. He wanted to take some, but do I even need to explain? Anyway, that's the barn where she keeps the horses and chickens. You can't really see it, but behind the barn is a ring where she teaches lessons if they don't go on trail rides. That's her dog, Mr. Darcy, by the barn door. He doesn't really like either of us, but she says he warms up eventually, he's just protective. We were standing in front of the house when we took this one, but it's a bit bigger than Dr. M's and smaller than Anne's. We're facing toward town and the road, but the mountains are behind us. I think you'd like them, they're huge and it's gonna be awesome exploring them. Reminds me of the ones back by the E-House._

_Write back-you owe me, my wrist hurts after writing all this-and send a picture. Cactus wrens are cool. Iggy says he wants more acknowledgement. Watch out for rattlesnakes._

_Later,_

_ Fang _

Postcards _were _lame. Though I wouldn't need that much space to justify killing Iggy, as I'd had the thought plenty of times myself. But there was something about Fang's familiar writing, imagining his hand ghosting across the pages, which made me smile.

"Max?" Mom asked over the newspaper, her coffee eyes concerned. "You okay? You don't have to help me in the garden if you don't want to."

"I'm good." I said, getting to my feet. "I'll be right back."

I sat on the bed, rereading his letter and staring at the photo. The sky was so big, you could see for miles. Brook Hufftalen's house could have been a palace. I could see Fang and Iggy there-exploring the woods and camping out on warm nights in the fields. I could imagine people working in that barn, and the dog was wagging his shaggy tail. It didn't seem a bad place to be.

_And he'd told me to write back._


	2. Awake My Soul

Day Eleven

_Fang, you need to get your hand in shape, bucko. Granted, you could probably crush me at a typing contest, but still, I guess you'll have to practice and write me another novel. And I agree about the actual letters-post cards never allow enough room and they cut off half of the words anyway when they mail it. Trust me, though, I've wanted to off Ig enough times that a detailed explanation probably isn't necessary. You can tell him that and give him fair warning._

_ I asked mom if she had any disposable cameras and turns out she has a drawer full of them for Ella to take to sleepovers, field trips, etc. and not end up trashing a nice digital one. I took two to start and we went to a 24-hour place to get the film developed so I could show you ASAP._

_ The first one is of _Harry Potter _books one through three. I've just started reading the fourth and they're amazing. If (what should I call her?) doesn't have them, go to the town library or a bookstore or something because they're practically the bible for non-Christians. This picture is my proof that I'm not completely illiterate and am enjoying myself for the most part, though you're right. I'm not exactly feeling this separation thing. ANYWAY. I promised myself I wouldn't get into that. Though I am sorely reminded that one of the upsides of not having a lot of clothes is not having to fold a lot of laundry, but I've been helping with it around here. I'm sure you'll remember how dull it was when we actually had a house and washing machine, but I digress. Other than that thrilling past time, I've found more entertaining ways to occupy myself (often involving water, thanks to the heat. Arizona's cool and everything, but I'm more of a beach type of girl. There is no coastline in AZ, for those of you who need an update in your geography lessons.)_

_ This picture is of dusk in the desert (which I do like, and I suppose wouldn't be here if there was a beach, so win some, lose some), or the horizon line, anyway. Cool stuff, but definitely better in person. I didn't get your letter before our trip obviously, but I'm sure you'll be glad to know that I am still among the living and nonbitten. Worry wart. Speaking of nonbitten vs. bitten, I saw a movie with Ella about the zombie apocalypse. I'll make a list of pointers and send it your way, because now that I think about it, it'd be wise to prepare for any sort of apocalypse, including zombie. _

Fang had to put the letter down for a moment, so overcome with this last paragraph especially. She hadn't changed at all since he had broken the flock in two-an action that made him want to scream every time he remembered. If she was doing zombie… why didn't he write a list about the vampire apocalypse? Sparkling Cullens everywhere! Nudge and the majority of the teenage girl population would be pleased.

The picture of the horizon in the desert reminded him of the bleeding sky above the mountains, an awe inspiring sight that occurred near every evening. He could see it now, sitting on the hill overlooking the house. He had run out just after dinner to see if any mail had come. Fang knew by now that any letter addressed simply as "Hufftalen Residence" with no return address was his and found himself perking at the sound of a car on the quiet road, wondering if it was the mail truck.

He hadn't wanted to break apart again either and felt Max's absence like a physical knife in his chest both times. They were always together, even if it had only been to kill each other. Dr. M, Max's mother, had described them as two peas in a pod, and though that had made Iggy laugh hysterically for minutes, it was true. They were each other's first friends, had spent nearly every night of their lives falling asleep to the sound of the other's breathing. Like it or not, he missed her. But he knew that the younger kids wouldn't have separated if they thought the older flock members were leaving them, and he also knew Max would never relax if it was the three of them. She'd be too pushed into action, feeling that the greater their numbers, the easier whitecoats could locate them. Then there was her Voice, who disappeared for extended periods of time and then reappeared with odd advice. Fang didn't like it.

_The Voice hasn't given many pointers aside, "what is normal really like, Maximum? Do you want to be normal?" But I don't want to talk about it._

_This is one mom took right after Ella beaned me with a water balloon. She said that photos are boring if they're just like, this is the kitchen, this is the garden, this is the porch, blahbedeblahblah, and that I should have some with character. I think I look like Total after a bath, but I think they guessed why I needed pictures and insisted I use this one for "whatever you're working on."_

He was glad they had. Max was clearly in mid laugh-a sight he never got tired of-her sister holding her arm for support as they collapsed into giggles. She was just as he remembered her; it felt like so long already. There was her light brown hair, streaked with blond and gold in the sun, now soaked thanks to the water balloon. The curve of her nose, the sparkle in her brown eyes… part of being two percent bird seemed to be eternally white teeth no matter how long they went without brushing. It was a trait they all shared, and Max's grin was contagious. As alone as Fang was, as far from heat-baked Arizona, they dying sunlight seemed to shine a little brighter.

_ I included a few more_, she wrote. _Magnolia barking at the mailbox, mom's garden, some kick-ass rock formations at the wildlife preserve, Ella's prison-uh, I mean, school… but it's easy to confuse them-and two kids in an ice cream bar (yes, you heard me right. When I rule the world, every town will have an ice cream bar) who had just finished a paintball match and agreed to pose for us. I had never heard of paintball before, but it's basically guns that shoot pellets of paint and people go out and shoot each other and apparently have a blast. These two had used neon paint and Nudge would have cried at the situation her hair is in, but both he and she look like they had a lot of fun._

_ Those are all the pictures for now, all the others are kind of blah-ish, and you probably have more interesting things to do than look at forty-eight pictures of random things here._

_ Nudge called earlier today, she and the others are doing fine. She said the apartment is small, but they spend most of the time at the park, and they go on daytrips to the zoo. It worries me that they're so public, btu I guess I'd be worried anyway-ah, don't mind me. They're having fun, have 3+ square meals a day, beds, a roof over their heads, and Nudge reports that her mom is "really cool and really listens when we talk, not like lots of grown ups." Angel says that she and Nudge's mom go on walks with Total, and Gazzy hasn't burned the complex down yet. He says he's sending postcards he picked up from the zoo. Mine hasn't come yet, but apparently it's a cheetah. I'm going to leave you in suspense about what he sent you two._

_ There was a full moon last night, I went flying. Maybe it's a stupid question, but does the moon look the same there? I know time zones change, in the least. Did you go flying? You always liked flying at night._

_ See you._

_ -Max_


	3. Gypsy

Day Twelve

"Has he chatted yet?" Ella asked, not looking up from a magazine she was pouring through, laying on her bed.

"Chatted?"

My half-sister was very helpful when it came to my technical difficulties, answering promptly without any snarky comments like Iggy would.

"On that kind of blog, the admin, or let's say the ruler, of the site can "chat" to other people by clicking on their username. You could do so to other members of the site but the admin, because he's probably edited his account so he's not bombarded with chat requests. What you should do is click on his username-next to a post of his-then a few options will come up. Click "write on profile." Then write something so that he knows you have an account. Hopefully he'll notice and request a chat with you. Okay?"

"Sure." I followed her instructions, trying not to be completely useless.

"You sure he'll know it's you?"

"Oh, he'll know."

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang**: _like the username?_

I didn't have to wait long, drumming my fingertips on the keyboard for about five minutes before the computer made a little popping noise and a box opened up on screen.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_totally. I always knew you loved me._

I rolled my eyes, typing _you wish._

"I take it he's chatting?" Ella piped up, rolling off the bed and peeking over my shoulder.

"In a matter of speaking," I said dryly. She laughed and picked up her magazine.

"I'm heading off to investigate the cookie supply, and remedy it if found lacking. Catch you later."

"See you," I muttered, internally grateful for the privacy.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_no, really. I think it's catchy. Don't feel a need to reply to that._

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **_haha. Well, at least it caught your attention_.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_I thought it sounded familiar, though I admit it took me a minute._

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **_yeah, I was afraid it was taken._

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_you should probably go to your profile and make sure people can't talk with you. There's a little option in the 'info' section. Nice profile picture, by the way._

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **_well, seeing as just about everyone else has a book cover for theirs, I figured, what the hell? And why am I doing this?_

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_I'm putting your name in the next post. Most of the people on here like your books. They'd be thrilled to talk to you._

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **_really?_

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_yep._

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **_and they know it's a joke, right? That'd I'd never actually use a name this ridiculous?_

**Fang** to** QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_I'm leaving that open to interpretation._

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **_are you _asking _me to fly up there and kick your butt into next year?_

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_I'll pass. But you could always fly up. We have room._

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **_Ha. I wish._

It was out before I realized that I had typed it, and immediately I began hammering on the delete button, but the message stayed in the box, as unchangeable as what I wore on my tenth birthday. It was the truth, but no way had I ever meant to say anything about it aloud. And he wasn't even responding.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_yeah._

Yeah? Oh, I was quitting this stupid thing before I said anything else that I couldn't take back. But before I could rotate the awkward laptop mouse, he posted again.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_me two._

Oh.

I tried to get over my surprise that Fang had said something like that. It was decidedly not his normal behavior, but I didn't have the heart to tease him because I felt the same way.

_Yeah, I wasn't into this._ I typed. _No surprises there. But the kids deserve a chance-I'm not their mom. They want a house. Food. Safety. I'm not exactly a prime example._

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_Max, you kept us out of hell. Whether or not we were sleeping in trees is inconsequential._

_-Ooh, someone's been reading the dictionary. But it's not the same._

_-Yeah, with a normal mom we'd be in the School. With a leader, we're free. I know what I prefer._

_-It doesn't matter._

_-Uh, yeah, it does, but I can tell you don't want to talk about it so just admit I'm right and we can change subjects._

_-You better not have put any of this mushy stuff in your blog._

_-Do I really have to answer that?_

_-Only if it's true._

_-New subject, then._

I took a deep breath, then quickly typed, _tell me about her._

He didn't need to clarify who 'her' was, but there was a lengthy pause anyway.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_She's sorta short. Nudge would say petite, if that means anything to you. Her hair is dark brown, a little lighter than mine. So are her eyes. We have the same skin tone._

_-Personality? _ I typed.

_-Fang?_

_-Fang._

_-I _know _you're there. The computer says you're online._

_-…if she's really awful I'll drop it and just fly up so we can go get ice cream and fly all day or do something similarly awesome._

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_Tempting, but it's not that bad._

_-I knew you were there._

_-I was posting._

_-Right. Just tell me what she's really like, at least so I can know if I need to take her out or something._

_-She doesn't talk much, but it's not like she won't. She's friendly and expressive and gets along well with Iggy. He'll talk _forever _and she'll listen, like Ang said, actually listen. Right now she seems nice but I don't know if it will last. It never has._

_-Have some hope. She's your mom._

_-Look how Iggy's turned out._

_-Mine's nice. So's Nudge's._

_-That doesn't mean anything._

_-It shows that not everyone is a demonic witch without a maternal bone in the body. How does she treat you?_

_-You mean how am I typing around the manacles in the jail cell?_

_-Haha. Seriously._

_-She's nice, treats us like guests, I guess. Sorta like your mom. Like, she set ground rules but she was cool when Iggy accidentally dropped six cups of sugar into his cookie mix and had to x6 the recipe. She got in from the barn and the counter was covered in all sorts of trays as he tried to cook them all._

_-What kind of cookies? And what'd she do?_

_-Sugar. She told us that you always bite the head off if the cookies bears resemblance to a living thing, like a gingerbread man. Said they don't suffer that way. Then she grabbed a cat Iggy had just iced, bit it's head off, and went upstairs to shower._

_-Doesn't sound demonic._

_-Ig likes her, but I can tell he's keeping his distance til I make up my mind._

_-…and?_

_-She hasn't tried to go all chummy or give the "I'm sorry I failed you" talk or start to sob. She hasn't mentioned my dad. But she smiles and does mom things like baking and gardening and making sure we're okay. She's cool with the wings (as long as we take off far enough so her riders don't see us). But I think she feels a little awkward, too. She knows how to deal with people because of her jobs, but she doesn't know how to deal with her kids. I think._

_-Giving her time might be the only solution. What do you call her to her face? Nothing personal, but in your letters you always have a ton of titles all crossed out and-_

_-Just call her she, I know. I don't know what to call her._

_-What does Ig do?_

_-Called her Miss Hufftalen until she asked him to call her Brook ("it's what all my students do") but she was looking directly at him when she said so, so I don't know if it applies to me. I usually just hunt her down so I can't be talking to anyone but her, then I don't have to call her anything. Does mom grow on you?_

_-I already knew her, she stitched up my wing. I wanted her to be my mom. It didn't take much. You'll figure it out._

_-Yeah._

I could tell he wasn't really into this anymore, but I was glad he had said this much. God, I missed that obnoxious look he'd give me if I ever had tried to ask all that in person. _I gotta ask_, I typed. _Is it hot there?_

_-Not unbearably. Warm. Breezy._

_-Lucckkkkyyyyyyyyy._

_-What's it like there?_

_-101 degrees at midday. Love hot weather. If there are nearby pools, lakes, oceans, etc. to swim in. _

_-Get in another water balloon fight and send me a picture_

_-Hardy har. Take it you got the letter?_

_-I sent back this morning._

_-Pictures?_

_-5_

_-How's Ig?_

_-Good. I'll tell him you were asking. So he knows you're not a Fangirl._

_-As if he needs the ego inflation._

_-He says he could always use a boost._

_-How's the kitchen working out for him? Okay evidentially, as he's making a million sugar cookies._

_-He likes it. Very spacious. I don't even need to ask, but he says he likes the layout and "fresh, wholesome foods." He's totally spoiled every since he listened to a documentary on food these days and has vowed to go organic._

_-Are sugar cookies wholesome?_

_-He says they have hidden depths._

_-*laughs* I'm sure. How's he doing with the layout? Remembering? What about outside?_

_-I took him around the first two days, but he's good now. It's worse in the morning, but there's lots of space inside and out, so he's getting used to it. Plus it's easier than getting up each morning with no idea about the surrounding area. He hated NYC. Loves it outside. It is pretty cool._

_-New York basically sucked. But tell me about it._

_-Well, we're isolated and it's so wild, like there are no big cities and large populations. She said that she moved "to the boonies" for exactly that reason, though she says there more urban areas. But you can see forever without seeing any other people. It's like the woods and mountains never end. We spend all day outside._

_-Sounds great._

_-And people complain that I don't talk. We're reversed._

_-I like hearing about where you are. I'm living my life, I want to know about what I don't already._

_-That argument's crap. I'm living my life, too._

_-So ask away._

_-Do you fly a lot, alone?_

_-Yeah. It's quiet, but I like to at night when it's cooler and the desert (we're practically right on the edge of this really awesome nature preserve) completely changes at night. Blues and purples and cool just take over the yellows and oranges and hothotHOT. And all the creatures wake up, chirping and calling to each other. As if that didn't sound Mark Twain-y enough from the beginning._

_-We're certainly turning into a pair of old saps._

_-Not old yet, but saps, yes._

Fang waited a minute, his post coming in stunted words. _We don't usually… talk this much. When we're together._

_-It's 'cause we can't see each other now._

_-Yeah. If you're irritated, you hit me. If I feel the need for a chummy heart-to-heart, I fly until it goes away. Now we actually have to exchange _words._ I'm dying with the exertion._

_-I'm sensing some sarcasm. And, out of curiosity, since when do you ever feel the need for an H2H?_

_-Haha. Well, we had a pretty good one going back there._

_-'Cause I'm totally the Dr. Phil type._

_-Nah, you're just the Max type._

_-Is that an insult?_

_-Either that or another way of saying "I miss you." Just like when you said, "I wish" it was your way of saying the same thing._

_-Yeah, we're saps all right. Do I even miss Gazzy's obnoxious Weird Al impersonations?_

_-Oh yeah. And Nudge's chatter._

_-And Angel's embarrassing comments when she reads your mind._

_-And Total's sonnets. Okay, maybe not those. But what comments did you have in mind?_

_-Don't make me take back that "I wish" bucko._

_-You can try. You forgot your username._

_-Shut up._

_-Because while we're tearing up in our old age as we think of the ones left behind on our journeys… remember, you love me thiiiis much!_

_-Have you been cloned?_

_-I thought you loved me enough so that you'd recognize who you were talking to. I'm hurt._

_-I swear to God…_

_-That's considered rude, Maximum._

_-Are you high? On drugs? Or cloned? You never really answered that._

_-You're high on my presence, maybe._

_-Logging off…._

_-Do you even know how? Technology's kinda a step up for you._

_-Ha ha. I think I can figure that much out for myself, thanks._

_-Then why aren't you?_

_-Because you keep replying and the chat box pops up again! Argh! I hate you. Hope you know that. Clicking the X button._

_-Max?_

_-What?_

_-We'll send you some cookies._

_-I'll send you some dirt._

_-Glad to know you haven't changed. Later._

_-See you._

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **has logged out.

**Fang **has logged out.

Chatroom closed.


	4. One Song Glory

Disclaimer: I'm not JP-I don't own _Maximum Ride._

Thanks, Hellewise14, first reviewer! Glad you like it.

XXXXX

Day 30

"I'm kind of hurt that Max isn't sending me letters."

Fang glanced up to see his tall brotherly figure standing in the doorway. He was clearly pleased with his joke, but Fang rolled his eyes and reminded him, "you can't read."

Iggy snorted. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"You're welcome, Lieutenant Sarcastic."

"Charming. Really witty."

Fang clenched his teeth, exhaling forcefully before replying. Yes, Iggy was the closest thing he had to a brother. No, that didn't mean he didn't sometimes wish he could kill him. "Are you here for a reason?"

Ig barked a second laugh. "You're welcoming today. Yeah, I was wondering if you have any insecticide."

Fang finally spared a look up from the computer screen, eyeing the blind pyromaniac warily. It was times like these when he couldn't tell if Iggy was kidding or not that unnerved him.

"Yeah. In the closet. Next to my supply of bleach." He said dryly. Iggy shuffled his wings impatiently, a few feathers protruding from his shirt. Instinctively, Fang froze up and took a look around the room, just waiting for someone to jump out screaming, "_MUTANT BIRD KID!"_ before he turned back to Iggy.

"Your humor is killing me, Fang."

"Well why would _I _have insecticide?"

"I was kidding. I have that. No true pyro goes anywhere without a basic kit."

Fang decided it would be wise not to mention this in his brief post on Max's wall. She had made it so only friends could post, and her only friend online was Fang. It really infuriated his bloggers (half of which thought her penname was a great joke, and the other half was furious that she had the gall to use it. This second half was mostly female.) She did, however, allow people to view her profile, and Fang couldn't help but feel slightly irritated that there was a particularly large number of boys clicking "like" under everything she commented on. Yet another thing he didn't write in his post.

"No," Iggy said as if answering a question and catching Fang's attention. "I am not here for flammable supplies, although your shorts are a fantastic consistency. As are Brook's t-shirts, found that out when I had laundry duty. Anyway, I'm actually here because of the amount of time you spend contacting a certain flock member."

"I'll tell Total you were thinking of him."

"I think she's becoming a bit more than "best friend…"" Iggy continued casually as if they were merely discussing the weather, not Max and that absurd topic. Fang thanked God that the other boy couldn't see the color rising in his cheeks and inflected all the steely resolve he had built up over the years into his voice.

"Total's a guy, Ig. And a dog. I don't roll that way."

"I also think you're avoiding the very true subject. Don't try to deny it, I know how much time you spend talking to her. I remember our reunion on the beach. Very touching remark."

"Shut up."

"And of course, I heard you muttering her name in your sleep when we separated. I think this is surpassing the "friends" part of a relationship, don't you?"

Fuming, Fang clicked the "post" button and quickly exited out of Max's profile. It seemed traitorous to be sending her a message while Iggy talked of _that_.

"Iggy, why the _hell _do you feel the need to talk about this?" Fang snarled quietly, aware of Brook fetching her riding boots a few doors down the hall.

"Because it's true," he shrugged. "And since you've obviously fallen into the star-crossed lover category-"

"Iggy-" Fang warned.

"That leaves me with the protective older brother role. The older is just for conventional purposes, of course."

Fang got to his feet, but Iggy had already assumed a defensive stance and neither wanted to make much noise with two campers using the phone downstairs. Not seeing any other option, Fang hissed,

"Has it ever crossed your mind that you can just miss someone?"

Iggy rolled his grey eyes, sightless, but still sparkling. "Yeah, duh. But I miss her, and I don't spend the majority of my time talking to her anyway. I just came to say that Angel thinks it's kind of adorable, even if Max is too boneheaded to recognize it, and that you've got my full support as long as you don't hurt her."

The fact that Iggy missed the flock too hadn't really occurred to Fang before, but right now it was under the radar. Not important.

"Get. Out."

"So the whole point of this conversation," the blond continued, completely uncaring about the quiet and placid tone of voice Fang had used that usually meant the world was about to end. "Is that Max has a helluva lot of uncertainty in her life. Even moreso than the rest of us because she's the leader and has that crazy Voice in her head. I don't think you would, but I wanted to tell you anyway, that flock family or not flock family, if you break that little stability she has, I will personally oversee the breaking of every bone in your body. Paired with past experiences and your imagination, I think you can get the picture. But again-this is just a formality."

"I'm going to break every bone in your body if you don't get out quietly this second."

Iggy just raised an eyebrow and a moment later, the quiet upstairs hall was no longer presumed uninhabited by the twelve and thirteen year olds down below.

XXXXX

"Do you even know what I had to come up with to explain the noise you two made? Moms were ready to dial 911, sure I had a terrorist in my house, and almost _did _for star's sake before I assured them it was an ancient china cabinet that the cat knocked over!" She wiped the sweat off her brow with a dirty sleeve, but despite her disheveled appearance, the small woman's eyes blazed with fury. "Now I know I can't control you, nor do I have any desire to. I'm glad you came, but what on earth happened up here?"

If anyone else had witnessed the confrontation between the thirty three year old and the two boys, they would have been unable to disguise how similar she was to an angry Fang. She hadn't raised her voice a single decibel, rather spitting the words out with cold efficiency, like a rattlesnake ready to strike. Her dark brown eyes flared, matching her son's in a way that no one else noticed during the argument, and like she would have done if on the receiving end of the torrent, Fang remained stiff and silent until she had finished.

Her dark eyes dared them to speak, but Fang lifted his chin defiantly and met her gaze without words. He wouldn't explain his overreaction to her, wouldn't admit to starting the fist fight if she had pulled a gun out and held it to his head. Although almost a head taller than she, the woman didn't back down. There was no sound in the hall except for the heavy breathing of all three.

"It's obviously a guy thing." She finally spat, throwing infuriated looks at the pair of them. "Keep it to yourself. But I am going to go back out there and teach those girls to canter if it's the last thing I do and I _don't _want anything like this to happen again. I am not going to uselessly threaten you. I am not going to send you packing. But I am going to remind you that this is my house with my rules that I left my controlling parents for and worked my butt off to keep, and I'd appreciate it if you could respect that and at least take it outside."

She didn't wait for any acknowledgement, sweeping around and walking back outside. The motionless pair could hear her brief explanation about the pathetic and unwanted family heirlooms and that the old shelf had finally given away. Fang forced his fists to unclench, cast one last look at Iggy, then bolted to the nearest window, his wings already unfolding.

That wasn't something he should bring up, Fang thought as he sliced through the air. Faster, he pushed himself. Faster. Nothing like pushing yourself to the limit to distract you from things that you didn't want to think about. Like Max running away. Like him breaking the flock apart. Like Iggy reminding him of it all. Like how he really felt about the whole thing anyway.


	5. I Miss You

Day 40

**Fang's Profile**

**Fang **updated his profile: two days ago

**Fang **posted a new album "Pictures From Our Stay In New England Four Months Ago": three days ago

**Fang **commented on _What Would You Do If You Had Wings?_: one week ago

**Fang **commented on _what do u think Max Ride and Harry Potter have in common_: eight days ago

**see more**

**Comments on Fang's Profile:**

Yesterday: **QT_PI_fan… **to **Fang**: last time, promise. Just thought I'd let you know that I called Ig, and he says everything is in tip top shape, so now I know you're just avoiding me. FYI.

Three days ago: **QT_PI_fan… **to **Fang**: look, I know you're there. Do you want me to come beat your face in?

Five days ago: **QT_PI_fan… **to **Fang**: nice pictures. Why are you acting like an isolated emo kid? At least tell me you're waiting to watch all the Star Wars movies and tell me your opinion.

Nine days ago: **QT_PI_fan… **to **Fang**: Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobie (is that how you spell it?) you're my only hope! Guess who just spent the past two days watching _all _of the Star Wars movies with Ella? Who knew droids had sass?

Ten days ago: **QT_PI_fan… **to **Fang**: Nudge called and says hi-she tried Brook but no one picked up. Gazzy wants you to ask Ig what would happen if you poured a mixture of ammonia, bleach, uranium, bug spray, and antifreeze in the fuel tank of a Prius. I told him no way in H-E-double toothpicks but thought you might find it amusing.

**click for earlier posts**

XXXXX

Fang looked at his profile, trying not to feel guilty. Since when could _anyone _make him feel guilty? But that last comment really struck him, even if he felt his reason for not replying was good enough. He hadn't talked to Iggy since their argument, telling himself that Ig was just reading too much into something that wasn't even his business, and hadn't known that Max had called, even if it was brief. He hadn't been able to speak with Max since. Couldn't call, couldn't write, couldn't post or email-couldn't get past any of the total BS that Iggy had said to him. He had tried commenting on her wall a few times, but everything sounded fake and contrived, as if he was hiding something, and Max would see through that in an instant.

So she knew he hadn't been kidnapped. Granted, given how paranoid she was, Fang didn't put it past her to fly up in a fit of anxiety. In the mean time-God, she was pissed. Or worse (and more likely) really hurt. Iggy had hit the nail on the head when he said how emotionally unstable she was. It was something that she'd never been able to hide from Ig and Fang. Max worried and obsessed over the safety of her flock and genuinely tried to give them the best she could. When this best amounted to dumpster diving and sleeping in subway tunnels, she felt like a total failure, even if the boys had spent ages trying to convince her otherwise.

_Sorry I haven't been here,_ he typed. _I'm not cloned or anything-just busy._

No. Fang immediately deleted that. How much of a jerk would he be if he had enough time to comment on a little thread for his readers' sake, but did not have enough time to talk to his best friend? He hated this whole separation. Hated how emotional it made him, and how far apart they all were. He wouldn't even be in this stupid situation if they had just stayed together like they were supposed to.

_I got your messages and letter. I stuck the photos up on my wall. Sorry I haven't posted anything worthwhile _-her profile, for example-_Iggy and I were talking and I've just been thinking. I hope that's not reason to bust my face in_-though God knew he deserved it. If he hadn't heard from her in ten days, he would have gone crazy not knowing what was happening-_I'll send some pictures later today from when we took a day trip of sorts a while back._

_There_, he thought, pushing the computer away after clicking "post." He rubbed his eyes wearily, dying for sleep and at least a few hours peace from all the thoughts in his head, but at that moment there was brief rap on the door.

"Fang?" Called Iggy. "Your m-Brook wants me to tell you that dinner's ready."

Before he could even make up his mind about replying, Iggy's nearly silent footsteps ghosted down the hall.

Aside from the clatter of silverware, dinner was silent.

Day 53

**Message from **QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang**:**

_Ella got braces._

_ We're fostering a little black puppy, much cuter than Total since he can't talk. There's a character in _Harry Potter_ that can turn in into a black dog, so we named him after Sirius._

_ We finally gave in and put a fan in my room._

_ Shit._

_ What the hell are you doing up there? I got the pictures but not a word from you. Not a freaking word. I know you're not Mr. Talks a Lot, but you didn't seem to have a problem before. I thought… well, screw it. I thought we were supposed to be friends. Best friends. Back at the school, I was alone, and then they dragged you in and wouldn't say anything for so long I thought you were mute. But then we were pitted against some Erasers and one almost bit your throat, but I leaped forward at the last second thinking, _I just can't let this boy die._ And then when I woke up three days later with you leaning over me, pressing a cool compress to my forehead, the first thing you ever said to me was, "what the hell were you thinking, you idiot?"_

_ I was so stunned I just said, "you can talk?" And that set you off muttering and wiping the blood from my cheek. _

_ "She practically dies and the first thing she says is 'you can talk.' No wonder the whitecoats think you're crazy."_

_ And then we were friends. _

_Remember that really rainy day back in Colorado when we were caught in a thundershower and Iggy locked the house? Remember how we couldn't breathe because we were laughing so hard over something I can't even remember anymore, and how when we could finally breathe properly again, we had slithered under the porch out of the rain, watching the river overflow and getting mud all over our clothes? Remember how you asked if we could always be like this?_

"_Like what?" I said. "Drenched and choking on our own spit?"_

_You grinned-lighting up my world-and said in that quiet way of yours, "No, friends. Like, can we always just laugh and sit together and get stuck in rain showers together, no matter what crap gets thrown at us?"_

I _remember that I was so surprised, because you don't always say a lot of heartfelt things like that, and you certainly didn't in that first year of freedom. But then I nodded and said, "I'd like that. And we can always tell each other anything. Deal?"_

_And you just nodded, because there was nothing more to say._

_Remember?_

_So, goddammit, Fang. What's happening? Are you angry because I agreed to this ridiculous idea? That I made you do it? Well, suck it up because we're going through with this for the kids. It's the least I can do._

…_Did I say something?_

_Do you want to stay with your mom after the year is up? That's okay-she's your mom._

_I'm just… I'm sort of lost without you. And I shouldn't even be saying this in case you're not talking because you want to stay with your mom because then I'll get you on a guilt trip and you'll stay with me anyway-but now I'm rambling. You and Ig are in Montana and I miss you two. I miss snapping at Iggy for his bombs and language, miss his cooking and watching him do so. I miss when he'd let me lick the spoon-hell, I miss it when he teased me about the toast I set on fire. I miss being able to sleep and know that you two aren't going to let anything happen._

_But I miss you, too. I miss being able to tell you anything and watching your face, seeing how your eyes will change or your lip will twitch or something. I miss sleeping in the room next to yours and flying around to the window so we could just fly together at night without having to take care of any younger kids. I miss the way you laugh and the way your eyes light up when you're too reserved to actually smile (though I miss that, too.) I miss when you'd wake me up in the middle of the night-scaring the crap outta me, I might add-and you'd ask if I wanted to come fly. I always ask why and you say, "because we can." Three magic words…_

_I miss your boring wardrobe, the way you roll your eyes. I miss the way you can tell me I'm crazy without batting an eyelash. I miss the way you frown when you're concentrating and the way you can read my mind and know just the right thing to say. I miss the color of your wings-black like your hair and eyes, except in the sun when they turn sort of purplish, like the night sky right before dawn-and I miss the way you'd ask if I was cloned if you saw this. I miss your voice and the way I always know I have someone on my side if you're there._

_I miss _you, _Fang. Even if you want to stay with your mom._

_But whatever happened to "I'll never leave you again?"_

_Now _please _right back._

_-Max_

**ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DELETE THIS MESSAGE?**

**YES**

**NO**

**MESSAGE DELETED**


	6. Bottom of the Sea

**Yeah, reviewers! Thanks, guys. I have this stuff written out, but I wasn't actually feeling up to typing them up until I read your reviews so **_**thankyouthankyouthankyou! **_**JealousMindsThinkAlike, thank you! I'm glad you like it so much; I wasn't sure if people would. Myself? I can't always deal with reading flock-separation fics. Hellewise14-yeah, Fang can be kinda obtuse, haha. AKA-an ass. Thank you! I'm really relieved that you like this so much, your reviews make me smile and feel like a princess in a party dress. FoReVeR-TwIrLeR-ahhh! Your review made my day. I won't abandon this, though I do have trouble with updating. I have everything written out, I just sometimes have issues with getting the motivation to type everything. I'll try though, think of it as a spring resolution-I always think spring is a better time to make resolutions. I feel fresh and happy in spring. I'll update soon!**

**I know I've already said this, but thank you three sooo much. There really is nothing like getting awesome reviews/knowing you have readers. Now, onward! I hope you like the chapter…**

Day 62

"Fang! I didn't realize you were out here."

Fang jumped, Her voice jolting him from his thoughts. He eyed her warily as she sank into the rocking chair on the opposite end of the porch. She had a mug in her hands. Tea, if the scent was anything to go by. For a while, they didn't speak. Night sounds filled the summer air, bugs chirping, horses whickering, the occasional rustle of grass or wolf howl. He debated whether or not he could leave without seeming completely rude and disrespectful, but Mr. Darcy growled softly, shifting so he lay across Brook Hufftalen's feet-and in front of the door. No escape now. Fang had originally planned on going back inside once he noticed his maternal figure, but he had no desire to disturb the collie mix who still didn't trust him. He tried to ignore them, settling back into his seat and looking up at the stars. They were especially bright this time of month, he noticed.

"Long distance relationships suck, huh?"

He jerked, surprised again, and shot her a look. "It's not a relationship."

Brook scoffed. "I didn't say you were in love with her. Even if I was good at judging feelings, I wouldn't say that. A relationship is any sort of contact with that person-friendly, hostile, you get the point."

Fang felt a prick of annoyance towards himself for jumping the gun. He had not even been planning on speaking with the woman. It was one of the many reasons he was quiet, he didn't have to regret saying something if he never had.

"Yep." He said, tone a little off-hand and emotionless, making up for his mistake. Make her think he cared _now_.

"I'm not going to impart any pearls of wisdom on you," she murmured, scratching Mr. Darcy behind the ears. "But I think it's awfully soon to call it quits. Friendship means more than that."

He waited in silence, hoping she wasn't about to spring the story of her life on him and start sobbing uncontrollably. The episode had yet to come, but Fang figured that it couldn't be long now. However, she just sighed, shaking her head.

"I read her books, Fang. I finished the third the day before you arrived. I don't know why you chose to split up again or whose idea it was, but what I do know is that she cares an awful lot about you. That happens when you live with someone for fourteen years and have to put your life in his or her hands on countless occasions. I also know that you really care about her-so I don't know why you're not communicating when I know you should be."

Fang couldn't help but to listen, aware that he had stopped breathing. She sounded so quiet and confident it was as if she had a script with these words written down, though he could tell that she really meant them.

"You two are such good friends that I don't know how a little thing like separation is going to keep your flock apart. You could probably make it without each other, but that's not the point, is it? Enough is enough. Your stay is an unexpected but welcome surprise, except if you need to fly back down there, I'd like you to know that I think it would be a good idea. If you care enough about my opinion, anyway." Having finished, she got to her feet and stretched before nudging the dog awake. He glanced at her, a dark shadow in the starlight lighting the porch.

"Good night, Fang. Just don't leave her waiting too long… girls hate that."

Before he had time to even process her words, she had shut the screen door he could hear her heading upstairs. Fang didn't follow until he was sure she was gone, then ducked back inside. He didn't need her go ahead, but he couldn't just up and leave without a valid reason. At least this way he could say he had a biological mother's go-ahead. He stopped outside of Iggy's room with a quick mental debate whether or not to tell him, then moved on to his room. He grabbed his always ready backpack, the pictures off the wall, and deliberated before spending precious seconds to make a recording on the laptop, leaving it on Iggy's bed to tell where he had gone.

The first step he took outside felt liberating, as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest. Fang smiled to himself. He wasn't going to be sleeping tonight anyway, might as well make the most of it.

_Day 63_

Fang wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say once he saw Max, but around eight the next morning; he realized words wouldn't really matter if he couldn't find her. The driveway was empty and the kitchen shades were drawn. No one replied when he knocked, and Magnolia was barking at him from her spot under the porch, where she could lie in the shade. Fang really hoped that they hadn't taken another day trip.

This left him with three options: wait until they got home, look, or leave. He wasn't really in the waiting mood, and number three wasn't even a valid choice. Max had the upper guest bedroom, he remembered, and took to the air again. Like his, it was practically bare and she always kept the window open. He slid in thinking only slightly guiltily of all the episodes of _CSI: NYC _they had watched together with rapists and murderers doing the same thing and looked around. Aside from the pictures he had sent taped to the headboard of her bed (his heartbeat kicked up a little for reasons unknown, seeing this), her shoes by the door, and the stack of _Harry Potter _books on the desk, it could have been anyone's spare bedroom. The flock wasn't really into personalizing any place they stayed in, because they always had to leave eventually.

Had Max gone with Dr. M and Ella, wherever they were? Her shoes were next to the bed and she never went far without them. He turned around, frowning, and noticed that there was a fan taken out of the window and propped against the wall.

She was flying.

This was both great and daunting at the same time. She was alone (good) but this was Maximum Let's-Fly-To-Botswana-And-Back-In-Ten-Seconds Ride, and the sky was big. Yet he had flown this far and somewhere along the way realized that he was finally doing something right. Everything else had felt strange these past few weeks, as if he was swimming upstream. But flying north now? North felt right.

An hour later, Fang nearly passed her over. The flock had painted their packs so they were as camouflaged as possible, though this was useless if they were left open. Fang couldn't help grinning as he spotted the flash of orange and landed silently in among the trees. He looked up, scanning through the branches for any sign of Max. It was impossible not to notice the differences between the Montana climate and Arizona's, and the dense tree cover was a relief after hours in the sun.

"Max?" He called quietly, then a little louder when there was no reply. He located the bag on the ground and the orange that had tipped him off-the cover of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. _There was someone on the cover who he assumed was Harry and a tag that read "Ella Martinez" below the author's name. He was about to bend and pick it up, but at the last moment whipped around and dodged away from a rather large flying projectile.

"What the _hell _are you doing here?" Max snapped, lunging again and catching him in the chest with her infamous roundhouse kick. They fell to the ground, Fang doing his best to avoid her flailing limbs and Max doing her best to be sure he failed.

"You practically vanish off the face of the planet and now you're _here?_ In freaking _Arizona?_ Do you have bees in your brain?"

"Bees in my brain?" He asked, sitting on her stomach and pinning her into the undergrowth. She struggled for a moment, but he was taller and she finally gave up with blazing eyes. "C'mon," he teased. "Admit it. You're glad I'm here."

"No!" She growled. "What-how, _why_ are you here?"

"I flew. From Her house to yours. I looked around to see if I could find you-flew into your room."

"You _what?_" She seethed, kicking her feet up. They tussled another minute or so, but he ended up above her again, trying not to smirk.

"I noticed the _Potter _books." He smiled. "Which one is _the Deathly Hallows_?"

Max hesitated, her brow wrinkling into a frown, but finally admitted, "the seventh. But I'm on the sixth still. I brought it in case I finished. Can I get up now?"

The pine needles were soft as he slid away, pulling his bag around front. He tried not to look at her. Though he had missed those brown eyes like crazy, seeing them now was… he couldn't do it. They'd just remind him of what Iggy said. "I, uh, I brought you something."

"So you're sucking up to me."

Fang looked up. "I'm being nice."

"Which explains why you-" she stormed, but broke off, glaring in a way that meant she was trying not to let any emotions through. "Nevermind. What'd you bring?"

Fang pretended not to notice her falter, knowing what she had been about to say, and pulled out the bag of half-melted chocolates he had grabbed from a convenience store somewhere outside of Salt Lake City. Hershey's Extra Creamy Mix Chocolate with Toffee and Almonds. Her absolute favorite Hershey's brand, and don't even get her started on Toblerone chocolates.

"Nice." She mumbled, taking one in her fingers but not unwrapping it.

Fang hesitated, unsure of how to explain exactly why he'd been unable to face her for so long. "Iggy accused me of liking you as more than a friend and I've been thinking that it may or may not be true" didn't seem like it would go over well, especially after her reaction to the last time they'd been alone in a secluded area. The buzz at seeing her again hadn't lifted, as angry as she was. Fang scanned her face, looking for any changes in the unusually long amount of time since they had last seen each other. Her hair was the same, slightly messy braids falling over her shoulders, the light sprawl of freckles across her nose, her mouth was now set in a frown but he could easily imagine it smiling or laughing. Deep brown eyes, they never changed. He could remember the first time he had looked her back in the School, how they were exactly the same.

"Why are you watching me?" Max stiffened, the chocolate clearly not helping. Fang blinked, trying not to blush. Him-blush? Something was seriously wrong, between that and the chocloates. Shouldn't she be feeling a little better now? _Universal solvent my butt._

"It's just…" He admitted, holding her hostile gaze, knowing he had better come up with something good. Like the truth. "I kind of missed you. I thought maybe if I didn't talk to you, it'd help. But it didn't. So I came here."

Max had frozen, staring at him with a closed expression. _Was he telling the truth?_ She asked herself, but she knew those eyes, and they certainly weren't lying. So instead of getting sappy and huggy, she shoved his shoulder. "Don't you _ever _pull something like this again or I'll personally fly to wherever you are and kick your butt into next year."

"If you could catch me!" He shot back, nudging his friend and breaking any leftover tension by throwing the bag of chocolates and hitting her head.

"Hey!" She snapped, popping one in her mouth. "Waste not, want not!"

He sent her a looked that clearly said, _and what the hell does that mean?_

"The first part says not to waste good chocolates." Max shrugged. "I dunno about the second part."

Fang smirked, causing her to roll her eye. "Works for me." She tossed him a chocolate and he grinned, officially forgiven.

They wore the afternoon away, he prompting Max to tell him everything that had happened from when she found a three-inch long beetle to when they began to foster Sirius. ("He's so cute! Too bad you didn't get to see him at the house-Mom takes him to work sometimes.") They finished Hershey's finest before the sun had sunk too low and hunted down a river for something to drink. It was by unspoken law that one had to push the other in, and by the end of the water war they had exhausted themselves and plopped down on the bank. Fang's natural short sentences began to fall in place again and it took a bit of prompting from Max to get anything. They ended up playing Nudge's favorite game-The Question Game-on the riverside as they dried off in the sun.

"Favorite _Harry Potter _character?" He asked, looking up at the sheep clouds floating across the sky.

"Luna, Ginny, Harry, Pigwidgeon, Sirius, Bellatrix, and Hedwig. Oh, and Dumbledore. Favorite constellation?"

"Big Dipper."

She scoffed. "You only know the Big Dipper."

He rolled his eyes but grinned up at the blue Arizona sky. She elbowed him in the ribs. "Favorite… country flag?"

"Hmm… China. I like the stars."

"An you only know China's and America's. On second thought, do you even know America's?"

She ignored him. "Favorite color combo?"

"Blue and grey. Or grey and yellow. Or different shades of brown." Like her wings and eyes. "Favorite western movie?"

Max groaned. "Jeb scarred me for life with his Clint Eastwood collection. _Dancing with Wolves_, takes the cake, I think. Or maybe _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. _Favorite language?"

"Latin or Hindi."

"Why?"

He smirked. "That's two questions. Favorite Wizarding saying?"

"That's easy." Her laugh was just as he remembered, too. It made the sun shine brighter. Not that it needed any help here. "'Merlin's pants!'" Why Latin and Hindi?"

"I like how Hindi sounds. No one speaks Latin anymore, A. B. I think it deserves credit for the amount of words stolen by today's languages and C. because a lot of cool movies were made about the Romans."

"Like _300_."

"_300 _was Greek." He told her. She shoved him, and he promptly pushed back. The sun had finally managed to dry everything except her braids, but they ended up in the river again, dissolving with laughter.

It was the best day either of them had spent in a long time.


	7. Banana Pancakes

Day 72

_To Fang-bear this in mind:_

_**How to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse 101**_

_**By Maximum Ride**_

_Carry a gun strapped across your back at all times_

_Have one of those chest-strap things that GI Joe dolls wear that have ammunition attached_

_Carry an axe in your belt (you never know when your gun will fail)_

_Carry a revolver and long daggers (two minimum) in the belt_

_Cover exposed flesh, wear light armor (think Aragorn in _The Lord of the Rings_) and extra padding when going through potentially infected areas_

_Clean cuts ASAP-they love the smell of blood and festering wounds_

_Travel with a group of similarly armed people_

_Stay in uninhabited areas_

_Set up safe places to evacuate to all over the country with bottled water, non-perishable food, first aid supplies, and more weapons_

_Learn to fly (and be the only one)_

_Also carry a bow and quiver of arrows_

_Prepare before apocalypse so you are able to use your weapons with ease and are accustomed to toting around this great weight_

_Have someone keep watch while you sleep_

_Carry a lighter and fuel on your person to burn bodies of any zombies you incapacitate_

_Learn a "Zombie Ward Call," a noise so horrid even the undead hate you_

_Learn self-defense and how to protect yourself without weapons_

_Run fast_

_Push a slower person down when fleeing (survival of the fittest, am I right?)_

_Administer a cut behind the knees of stragglers in your group or any dead uninfected bodies you happen to find if a zombie attack is imminent, their feast on your prior teammate's body will give you escape time. Take one for the team!_

_Be invincible_

*_many of these suggestions may cause you to be upheld in airports. Explain your reasoning and you will probably be able to get through._

_ Enjoy! Don't get infected._

_ -Max_

Day 75

_About three things we are absolutely certain. First, it's coming. Second, and we're not sure how strong this part of it might be, we're right. Third, there is no turning back. This is how to survive the vampire apocalypse, brought to you by Fang and Iggy._

_Arm yourself as you would during a zombie attack with silver tipped and edged arrows, knives, bullets, axes, and guns_

_Carry fuel and multiple lighters or matches on your person_

_Arm further with wooden stakes_

_Have a priest or rabbi or holy person bless all your stuff_

_Wear a cross_

_Stay in well-lit areas_

_Do not allow strangers into your homes_

_Avoid pale men with strange European accents_

_Inconspicuously check out newcomers for any of the following: fangs, a billowing cape, Victorian-era dress sense, and anyone who can tell you the blood type of everyone else in the room_

_Avoid sparkling people*_

_Wear a garlic necklace**_

_Eat garlic and steak at all meals***_

_Carry a steak in your pocket (and avoid dogs while doing so)_

_Give your friends garlic necklaces for gifts_

_Learn Biblical hymns, sing them while under threat_

_Never leave a cathedral_

_Avoid bleeding and treat wounds quickly_

_Avoid talking in strange European accents, wearing billowing capes, sparking in or avoiding the sun, asking people their blood types, or cringing at the sight of religious symbols lest you be mistaken for a vampire by a fellow hunter_

_Learn to fly (keep the secret well guarded)_

_Discover anti-venom_

_Avoid people with strange abilities to turn into mist, bats, or wolves_

_*Given the different forms of the vampire in legend, it can be difficult to understand exactly what you are up against until you come face to face with the threat. Thus, we have included a wide variety of protection so you can always be ready._

_**Get your garlic accessories at http: / yourneckst . com; a wide array of inexpensive and fashionable garlic jewelry ranging from anklets to belly rings._

_***allrecipes . com_

_ You've been two-upped._

_ -Fang Helsing and Igula (names provided by the latter)_


	8. Skinny Love

Ahhh! So much happiness!

Reason #1: I don't know if any of you have read my main story, _Saving the World Through Watching_, but it basically takes me a million and a half years to update. Granted, I have plenty of chapters written out for _Letters_, so you shouldn't be too worried. But basically I love updating even if it does take me ages, so YEAH!

Reason #2: French exchange student in my class today! There is very little I like more than listening to people speak French. It's a beautiful language. Plus, he was pretty attractive, so no complaints there.

Reason #3: I'm listening to Augustana.

Reason #4 (the biggest one, I assure you): is because of my awesome reviewers! I can't even express my gratitude to you guys. I want you to know that it's because of you that I update faster-haha-you're so motivational and your reviews bring smiles to my face.

FoReVeR-TwIrLeR: my story is screamworthy? And you think I need more recognition? –bows in thanks- thank you, so, so much. I wasn't sure how this story would pan out/if anyone would like it, so I'm really glad you get so much enjoyment out of it. And yeah, I would never be able to deal with Fang and Max not talking for too long, let alone write about it! Haha. I'm such a romantic at heart. Thank you for taking the chance and being full of bubbly happiness (yes, I have had that feeling! It's freaking awesome.)

Dancing On My Toes-ahhh! Thanks! I love long reviews like yours that say what you like, what you appreciate, etc. because it's so helpful when writing future chapters and brings an enormous smile to my face every time. Yeah, don't get me wrong, I love the little guys, but this is definitely more a Max/Fang/Iggy fic, and I do think there need to be more Fang/Iggy bro hood fics. I try hard with spelling and grammar, and I'm glad you notice. I really need to update my first fic because there are some here and there and they bug the heck out of me, but time, my ever elusive friend, doesn't really allow it. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Hellewise14-reading fanfiction at 1 am? Been there-laughs-. Thank you so, so much. When you say that this is the best _Max Ride _fic you've read in a while, even if my humble and self-conscious self blushes and stammers, I'm really grateful. And I'm sure part of the whole saving-the-world gig involves educating the general public about all kinds of apocalypses, so I'm happy I can help in case we ever are ever infected. Thank you! (!)

JealousMindsThinkAlike-Igula sends his hugs. As do I. I'm so glad you like this, and thank you sooo much for reviewing.

XXXXXX

Guys, I think I need a new word besides "so"

XXXXX

_Day 76_

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **

Yours was easy because of the popularity of vampires in pop culture.

_Day 77_

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **

(**Comment has been censored by **QT_PI_fang_luvr **for false facts and crude language. **Uh, correction: It was easy because Igula and I are _masters._)

_Day 78_

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:**

I'll ban your books for sick and cruel ideas. People are all about that these days.

_Day 79_

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **

People can _do _that? Ban books? Not that I'm taking any threat from you seriously.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:**

According to Her, your friend Mr. Potter isn't very popular with some people. Tell me-does reading _Harry Potter _make you want to pick up witchcraft?

_Day 80_

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **

Didn't you know? Witchcraft is all I think about... But that's stupid. Freedom of the press and all that.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:**

Yeah, it is, but some parents see things and overreact, some kids read things and have nightmares, and some kids read _Harry Potter _and start attacking anyone who likes snakes.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **

Yeah, _psycho _kids. But how do you like the books? Which one are you on? I'm halfway through _Deathly Hallows _now. You'll be glad to know that you take precedent over the battle at the Ministry.

_Day 81_

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:**

I'm on chapter three. Of the first. She owns them, but I haven't really gotten into them yet.

_Day 82_

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **

That's even more stupid than banning books. What could possible me more important than reading about a boy wizard? How do you call yourself even 98% human?

_Day 84_

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:**

I knew you'd say something like that-so I finished the first four with Iggy. He had me read aloud. That's… four books in about forty eight hours?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **

Yeah, well, I finished the final one last night so _there._

_Day 85 _

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:**

Want an award or something?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **

Got that right. A really freaking big one. With gold points so I can stab anyone who wants to ban the series.

_Day 87_

**QT_PI_fang_luvr's Wall**

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:**

Here-listen to his audio clip. [ play ] = digital media.

**Comments:**

_QT_PI_fang_luvr: _Is that… Iggy? On the piano?

_Fang: _Yep.

_QT_PI_fang_luvr: _You can _not _give me a freaking audio clip of Iggy playing effing Beethoven with only a "yep" in response. It's gotta be against the Constitution or something.

_Fang:_ Well, it's Yiruma actually. Not Beethoven. Kiss the Rain_._

_QT_PI_fang_luvr:_ Shut up. How did this happen?

_Fang:_ Either you want me to shut up or tell you, as amazing as I am, both aren't possible.

_QT_PI_fang_luvr: _You are purposely making my life difficult.

_Fang:_ Clearly, my work here is done. Kidding. Anyway, She teaches piano, right? Not only that, but she practically lives and breathes music. She has a small one in the living room for her students, an old one in the barn-she often plays for the horses in bad weather-and one in The Cave. AKA, her study. Never been in there, I just looked and it had this enormous, ancient grand piano. She plays all the time. Anyway, one time Ig sat down on the bench of the community piano and plunked his finger down experimentally. In no time, the kid was playing freaking chords, sounding out songs, the whole package. She couldn't believe he had never played before when she came in from the barn. She gave him a few lessons, then a CD player covered in dust from the basement and pulled out CDs and CDs of piano music. Like, classics and modern and modern stuff that sounds like it was written in the 1700s. Aside from cooking, he hasn't left the thing yet.

_QT_PI_fang_luvr: _I'm so glad for him! It sounds brilliant. And that's pretty amazing. Granted, after seeing what he does with explosives, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

_Fang:_ Yeah, he really likes this Korean guy, Yiruma. And don't be too surprised. Ig said Beethoven or Bach or Mozart or someone was deaf and still composed.

And so Iggy had traded his soul for a piano.


	9. At Least I'm Not As Sad

I am on a _roll_. Look at this update! But I really wanted to share this chapter, even though I'm afraid I didn't manage to write it how it should have been. What if I didn't do this justice? Fang has some more interactions with Brook (who will eventually become a bigger character) and of course, Max.

As always, major kudos to my fantastic reviewers and readers.

Amber-I love the piano, and I'm glad you appreciate Iggy's fondness for it. I felt that he needed something in fanfiction-dom besides the usual. I.e., flirting with Ella, cooking, and explosives. Plus, as you pointed out, I'm sure Fang and Brook are glad of the respite. As for your take on Max and Fan? –HUGS!-Don't get me wrong, I am a major Fax fan, but like you, sometimes I get tired of the fics where they're just love-love-love all the time, since love is built on friendship and they're never portrayed as friends. Thank you!

Dancing On My Toes-minor chapter, it's true, though I'm so happy that you approve of Ig's piano playing abilities. Given his acute hearing, I feel like he would have real appreciation for music. Given his excellent coordination and memory, I felt he was a good fit for the piano. Plus, as you pointed out, I'm sure Fang and Brook are glad of the respite from bombs and explosives. Thanks so much for everything!

JealousMindsThinkAlike-glad to hear that Ig can make you laugh, he tries, I can assure you. Thank you so much!

Hellewise14-haha, log in not required. Are you by chance on vacation? Insomniac? Or do you just take fanfiction over school? I usually fall in the last two categories, haha. But no, I'm really appreciative that you like the story so much (your reviews all make me smile and jump up and down like a little girl). Thanks so much!

IwriteUread-If you're on this chapter yet… I got your message! I'm sorry this is so quick as I really appreciated your PM, but my sister is barking at me to get to bed as we share a room and she doesn't have spirit day tomorrow. Anyway, I just want to issue a quick thanks and an _Oh My Gods You Thought _FANG _Was A Crazy-Nut Wackjob Book That Totally Undermined The Flock's Character _book too? Ahh! I could rant forever on it. Anyway, I always feel so humbled reading your reviews/messages, they make me feel awesome because I'm human enough to love compliments. Quickie question-do you have any particular ideas for _Saving the World Through Watching_? I have a skeleton, but chapters are slow as I'm not always sure what to put in them, so if you have suggestions, I would love to hear them.

Thanks again, everyone!

Quickie notes…

Yiruma is a Korean piano composer who I love to death. My favorites are "Love Me" (which I have mentioned in at least two other fanfics of mine) and "Kiss the Rain," though basically everything he does is genius. He makes me feel emotions I never thought possible, and that's just about the corniest thing I've said in a long while.

I also love "Fur Elise" by Beethoven, who was such an intense composer.

I have obsessions with _Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Percy Jackson and the Olympians_, and _Max Ride _(obviously) so these also make numerous appearences. Just as a note.

TTFN, tata for now!

**XXXXX**

Day 90

_AGHHH! LOOK AT THIS DOG! I WANT TO TRADE HIM FOR TOTAL!_

Beneath this very briefly worded letter was a picture of a small black puppy, asnooze in the grass with a small flower tucked behind his ear. Fang recognized the Martinez's foster dog, Sirius, from earlier pictures. Max had hit the nail on the head; he was-and Fang would admit this to nobody-adorable. Much cuter than Total, anyway. He flipped over to the other side of his bed, grabbing his laptop and opening the ol' blog. He _ping_ed a message to Max, then went and taped the picture up with all the others on the wall of "his" room.

_Well_, he typed. _Dr. M likes Total. She'd totally go for the trade._

It was later, around eight, and unless she was out flying, this was usually when Max made a habit of being online. She'd usually click the computer on and leave it open while she did something else, like read her latest YA novel or watch a movie with Ella. All the same, the minutes waiting for her reply seemed endless.

The computer made a little sound, indicating she had responded. He flipped off his back and pulled the screen closer.

_Yeah, if only. Une problemo. Apparently he's going to grow to be like, seventy pounds._

He smiled, being perfectly able to imagine this conversation.

_"Mom? Can I trade Sirius for Total?"_

_Plan scuppered_. He typed. _Give him some coffee in the mornings and keep him up all night. Stunt his growth._

She was faster this time, and the four months apart had greatly improved her typing skills. _Already on it. He only likes coffee with lots of sugar and milk. Strawberry milk. I had to make a few combos before mom saw what I was doing and told me that not all dogs have the same stomach as Total. But Siri seems okay. I mean, earlier today he sniped half an apple pie (ahem, mine) before we got to him. He's sitting on my lap now and seems fine. We're watching _Titanic._ Ella's crying. If you ever drown while trying to "protect me" or some other sexist BS like that, I'll bring you back to life and kill you again._

He frowned; trying to play it cool, like the thought of being unable to protect her was bearable. _Practicing our necromancy, are we?_

_ As always. Dude, Leonardo DC is so much older now._

Considering he was still pretty young, Fang typed out, _don't let Dr. M hear you say that. Adults get all testy when you call 'em old._

_ Psh. She doesn't like movies she knows the ending to. We all know that this one doesn't have a happy ending. The end. It's not like the amount of tear shed will change everything._

"Fang?"

He was on his feet in an instant, hands clenched in fists and ready to break something. Home life did not suit him.

"Calm down, man." Iggy called, drifting soundlessly from the top of the stairs to behind Fang's closed door. "Brook wants us to do the dishes."

Fang caught his breath, aware that he'd been about to sigh in frustration, but Iggy's sensitive ears would catch it in a heartbeat. "Yeah. Be right down." He turned back to the laptop screen to see that Max had typed a new message.

_But seriously. As long as we don't feed him, Sirius will totally be small enough to carry around when we're done with this. We could even train him to catch food for us and attack on orders._

_ Sounds like a plan_, he replied, smiling wryly. _I gotta go help Ig with clean up. Catch you later._

She replied, and was it her disappointment he was imagining or his he felt? Either way, the single word "_yeah" _didn't offer much to go by. _Later _she typed.

It was spur of the moment, product of too much to eat and the adrenaline high of flying in a thunderstorm. But when he typed _miss you _she had already logged off and the message remained unsent. Fang tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart as he shut the laptop and headed downstairs.

"Where is she?" He asked Ig as he turned into the kitchen. The other boy was already at the sink, wiping pasta salad residue off a plate.

"Barn. She said one of the horses was colicking, whatever that means."

Fang nodded, remembered Iggy couldn't see, but decided it probably didn't matter. He took the plate from Iggy's hand and began to dry.

"Talking to Max?" He asked.

"Yep."

"Oh? And what does the savior have for us this fine evening?"

Thunder boomed outside. Iggy chuckled at his joke, though Fang couldn't hold back his smile for another reason. "She's in love with the Martinez's foster dog. Sent me a picture. Wants to keep him-but he's going to be about seventy pounds, so says the doctor."

"We're not without hope," Iggy laughed. "If he's that big, then we could just have him eat Total. No loss there."

"I'll get the butcher knives." Fang offered. "So Sirius doesn't know he's committing cannibalism."

They lapsed into silence again after Ig's appreciative grin. Fang looked out the window as he dried whatever dish was handed to him. The sun had long since disappeared behind storm clouds, and it was raining now. He glanced up at the sky, but from inside with the kitchen lights on, he couldn't see the stars even if they had been out tonight. He hated that. Thunder rolled across the night again, and far off her heard a horse whinny. He could see a flickering light coming from the barn as if a figure passed to and fro in front of it. She was pacing.

"You sound just like her, you know."

_Get a grip_, Fang berated himself, having been startled into fight mode for the second time and nearly breaking a bowl. He glared up at Iggy, daring him to laugh, but he was just smiling in a sort of empathetic way.

"Jeez, man. Chill. 'Our world has no place for dreamers, Fang.' "

Now the Death Glare was real and he really wished that Iggy could see it, know he could cross a line without Fang having to speak.

"Don't quote Jeb at me or I'll make you do all these yourself."

Iggy rolled his sightless blue eyes. "I practically already have. Anyway, did you jump because I surprised you, or what I said?"

"This heart to heart is really wonderful," Fang kept his voice checked, completely unwilling to discuss anything closely related to this. "But I think I'll pass."

"You mind turning off the grump machine for two seconds?" Iggy whirled, familiar eyes suddenly furious, catching Fang off guard. "You mind even letting the blind freak speak? You're always talking about powerful words, but you won't even let people use them."

"What? When did seeing come into this?" He was fighting not to snarl at Iggy, having no idea where any of this was coming from, why they couldn't just act like normal and get into fights over whether or not Iggy had stolen Fang's shirt or Fang borrowed Iggy's sneakers or something.

"Then what is this about, Fang? You're perfectly okay until Brook shows up, then you just freeze up and retreat. I may be blind, but I know a good person when I see one, and you're wasting her!"

The kitchen was filled with the sound of Iggy's harsh breathing and Fang now knew what was on Ig's mind. Images of an urbanite house, a traditional church, a woman claiming she already got the _Post_, then a man who seemed the heartbroken father all the flock had wished for. Until the wings had been discovered. They had all used to dream about finding their parents and being safe. Now Max had Dr. M and Ella. Nudge had a mother and father. The siblings might know how Iggy suffered, but Fang still felt a flash of fury for how Iggy had been used. Now he had met Brook, who treated them well and taught him how to play the piano and didn't care about the wings, and he didn't think Fang recognized these things.

"Look," he said, knowing that this was one of those times when the half-truth wouldn't cut it. "She's nice, okay? Major points. She hasn't turned traitor, but I don't know how I feel about her. It doesn't even matter, really. Ig-she could be the greatest person in the world, but we don't belong here. You know that."

Iggy wasn't even looking in his direction, turning back to the sink as if the words were nothing. "Doesn't matter?" He asked gruffly. "It's the difference between leaving with good memories or looking back on this as the Year of Hell where you didn't learn anything. And, look, I know you have trouble enough deciding to like _anybody_," he went on, even as Fang tried to speak. Fang fumed. "But contrary to popular belief, caring about other people doesn't always feel like crap."

_Oh, yeah? _He wanted to snap. _Then what was I feeling when _I _split the flock, tore us all in half? What was I feeling when Angel was taken? When Max chose Ari? The _countless _times I thought you guys had been taken away forever back at the School? _

But he didn't, because if Fang knew anything, it was that speaking thoughts like these aloud only brought him weakness and sympathy, two things he couldn't stand and didn't need. If Max had ever confirmed what he thought, she would have mashed his head into a rock. But she knew it too, as she'd proved under just as many circumstances. Living like they did? You couldn't afford to get attached to people. You let them in, and then they died and you wanted to. Max and the girls hadn't talked much about what had happened during the first separation and suddenly, Fang couldn't stand not to know. Ari was dead, and had ter Borcht never been captured them, the entire flock may have been glad for it. So why did Nudge get teary when his name was mentioned? Why did Max break into tears at his funeral? What had made him worth anything?

Because, Fang thought grimly, contrary to popular belief, he did have emotions, even if he kept them in check. He forced himself to breathe normally, as if all this… stuff Iggy had started spouting didn't deeply disturb him. He had to get out of there. But not yet, or Iggy would know how much he had been effected. He steeled himself and stepped forward, piling plates into the dishwasher until the sink was empty and Iggy had wiped the counter clean. Dr. M had taught him how to run a dishwasher-it seemed a useful skill. Then, brushing Iggy's shoulder to let him know that it was okay, he slipped outside and throw the rain to the barn.

When they had first arrived, Fang and Iggy had combed the barn for something like a hidden plane hangar or dismembered crates hidden under the straw, but everything had come up clean. It had a few box stalls lining the aisle, then tack and feed rooms to the side, a staircase from the tack room to the hayloft that flooded his nose with the sweet smell of clover, and finally, an extra walk-in space where she kept her piano. Paired with the spring rain, Fang couldn't help inhaling deeply as he slipped inside the big red doors.

"Fang?"

There she was, drenched in rain and sweat with one hand on a horse's neck and the other holding his harness. A halter, Fang remembered it was called. The creature was big and muscular, fur splotched with huge patches of brown on white and clearly terrified. She brushed tufts of her dark hair from her forehead, and Fang cringed away from the concern in her equally dark eyes. It was like having a twin. An older, wingless, non-mutant twin. "What's wrong?"

He swallowed down his thoughts, immediately coming to mind with her supposedly harmless question and instead asked, "what's wrong with him?"

"This is Crazy Horse." She said softly, turning back to the stamping horse. Crazy all right. He was trying to kick his stomach. With hooves that big? Fang moved back as she coaxed the animal forward. "I named him after the Native American chief who fought for the rights of his people to the death. He was very brave. Right now, Craze is colicking." She then elaborated, guessing correctly that Fang had no idea what she was talking about. "Horses can't throw up. If something goes wrong in their stomachs, they roll around to alleviate the pain. This twists their intestines."

Fang had the slightest notion that this was bad.

Crazy Horse's big brown eyes were rolling in fear, and he whinnied hoarsely. There was banging on the outside stall doors, shutting the other five horses out. Fang was reminded of terrified chimps running from Erasers and mutants screaming and shrieking and making all sorts of God-awful noises. His neck prickled. Had to make it stop.

"Need help?"

"Get my first aid kit from the tack room." She instructed briskly and smiled when he returned toting a large bucket that weighed about half as much as she did. He set it against the wall so she could walk Crazy Horse by without those hooves getting to close to him. On her command, he pulled out what she asked for and did as she suggested-never ordered, he noticed. _Would you mind holding him? Please give that here_, and so on. So much that by the time the rain had escalated to a downpour on the roof above their heads; Fang was sweaty and covered in horsehair, which itched at his bare arms. He had been slobbered on just as much as she had, but finally, _finally_, Craze calmed. The horse stopped snorting and his feet stayed on the ground if he wasn't being forced to walk. The clock on the wall read 12:24 by the time she declared them finished. She noiselessly handed the lead rope to Fang, grabbed a pitchfork, and cleaned up after her now healthy horse.

"There's a good boy," she murmured, coming back and gently pulling the halter from the horse's dirt and sweat stained head. Fang watched her reach her hand up, gentle as Max with newborn Angel, and rubbed the filthy white fur, cooing and whispering. As Fang picked up what medical supplies had been strewn across the floor, he heard her ask,

"Do you want Deborah Wyndham? Or maybe Pachabel?"

Probably other horses, judging on the absurdity of the names, and she did step out into the rain to welcome the other animals into the barn. Fang frowned at the panicked horses. Between the stamping, neighing, storm and wind, being in a horse barn during a thunderstorm had to be the loudest place he'd ever been. He wanted to just slip out, pretend he had never sought her advice, but then she was asking if he'd help her 'grain'. "I didn't have time to feed them," she admitted, brushing into the feed room while not minding the horse still walking freely around the closed barn. He hadn't originally written the woman off as a nutcase, so he figured she knew Crazy Horse was ambling over to her piano nook and came to rest in the shavings surrounding the instrument. Did this make her even crazier?

"Fang?"

Right. He gave the creature a wide berth and allowed this odd, animal whispering stranger to teach him to fill water buckets and dish out grain to some very impatient horses.

"All Craze needs is some water and Wyndham," she instructed. "Can you fill the bucket?"

Sure. Of course he could water some enormous free-range horse. No problem. How on earth would he explain that to Max? _No, it wasn't really an Eraser. But it _was _furry and did have big teeth._ For grazing. Yeah, that'd go over real well.

"He won't hurt you, you know."

Fang jumped. She didn't laugh. When he backed away, expanding his personal bubble by a few feet, he could see her eyes were sharp, as if she would notice the slightest twitch from the horse, but soft as if she were extending a mental hug. It was not dissimilar to the way Max sometimes looked at him after a particularly crappy day in a series of crappy days.

"He's a gentle giant." She continued, sitting down on the piano bench. "Part Clydesdale, part Paint. I bought him from an auction of sick minded men selling horses to slaughterhouses. They thought he couldn't be tamed-and he can't." The woman chuckled and met Fang's eyes. "But he's perfectly willing to make friends."

Clydesdales were those hefty horses from the Budweiser commercials, Fang remembered, and he dimly recalled Anne telling Nudge about breeds of horses, including paints, pintos, and palominos. But jeez, a slaughterhouse? Those were legal? He had a new respect for this unbroken horse, skin scarred from an abusive past just like his. He had noticed this, while walking Crazy around the barn to keep him from rolling, slices of skin where no hair grew.

Crazy whickered, and Brook looked to him, frowning as thunder boomed and playing a quick series of notes with even faster fingers. "Beethoven, you say?" Fang was amazed to see something in the weary horse light up as he whinnied and trotted closer to the piano. "Not Deborah? Okay, Beethoven it is."

When she began to play, it was like no music he had ever heard before. Beautiful and sad and dark all at once, but with occasional lighter refrains where the world seemed to come back together, at least for a moment. Fang sank down against the wall and closed his eyes to the sight of the woman bent over the piano, her eyes shut and expression both soft and broken at the same time, as if everything had become too much. He heard the other horses quiet, their breathing and soft munching the accompaniment to the songs that carried them through the storm.

XXXXX

The clock read three AM before she played the last note. The barn suddenly seemed empty, and Fang woke abruptly. She was at the piano still. Crazy Horse was asleep on his feet-literally, as the case seemed to be with horses-and the thunder had stopped. He blinked a few times, and found that She had looked up at him.

"So. I take it you didn't expect to be shanghaied into barn chores." The woman said quietly, playing a chord or two then glancing again at Fang. Such seemed to be her pattern: speak a little, play a little, speak, play. "Can I help?"

For a moment, he debated. He didn't need help. Just information. Not to mention that now, he was almost unsure of himself. Yet the words still came, almost of their own free will.

"How did Ari die?" _Why did Max care? Why did she open herself up to more pain, as if she had a shortage in her life?_ Either he had died or betrayed them, there was no winning situation. What had made Ari special, besides being that poor kid who had been lost when sick scientists destroyed him? Fang felt for the death of the old Ari, not this new monster.

She played another melancholy series of notes before replying. Her face was conflicted, but Fang remembered that she had read the books. Therefore, she knew.

"He expired." She stated softly, playing more music. "But is that really what you're asking?"

He had no idea, but her voicing this in such a nonchalant way was irksome. "What am I really asking, then?" He asked, a bite in his voice.

More music. More waiting. A pause. "I think you want to know why she chose him."

He waited.

"And I think it's because Max realized he was broken. He had nothing left, and Max can't stand that. Judging from her books, she knows what it's like to think, _this is the end. These are my last days._ She knew you could take care of yourself, and Ari couldn't. I think she wanted… to take Jeb's place. To take care of Ari like his father should have done and allow him some peace. To die away from a lab."

His voice was rough, unable to say Max's name. "She wrote that?"

The woman shook her head. "But it was easy to gather. Max is very open in her books-they're like a testimony to the evils of mankind. Or some of them, anyway." Her fingers began their dance across the keyboard again.

"But why did she… get attached to him? She got him out, she could have just left him."

The woman shrugged, as much as one can shrug while piano playing. "She didn't write why, though I think you know the answer, deep down. Think of how you spend your time with your flock. They're you're family." There was no bitterness in her voice as she said this, only truth. "And if they were killed, you would take the bullet too. But the world isn't this fair. You're still alive, even if it doesn't feel like it. You become so consumed in despair that you almost wish you had never met them so you don't have to feel this sickening pain. But… sometimes those hours or days or years of happiness, of togetherness before they disappear, sometimes make the pain seem worth it."

Fang noticed something had changed in her voice and the playing became intensified, a sound he didn't know could be heard but had felt on various occasions. After a minute, she seemed to recognize what had happened, looking to Fang who had clearly seen her own pain mirrored in her expressive eyes. She switched clumsily from the heartbroken song to a trivial tune that any pianist could play, but her heart wasn't in it. It didn't surprise him or make him feel emotions he had previously ignored like the other songs had. Besides, he had learned what he needed. He got up, but paused by the doorway and looked back.

"Was it worth it?" He asked. This startled her, but she smiled a little and nodded.

"For me? Yes. For you? You have to find out yourself."


	10. Better Together

Hey, readers! Quick question… do any of you use the program that fanfiction promotes on the main page, LibreOffice? I just use MicrosoftWord, but I'm wondering about any benefits/advantages/disadvantages/general info about it. In the meantime, major thanks for checking in again!

Hey, Hellewise14. I'm lovin' vacation, too. I've been up to eleven or twelve these past few nights reading, writing, basically fanfictioning all around. Must. Break. Habit. Before. School. Starts. Again. Haha, yeah, Fang isn't exactly the quickest in getting to know people. As for "the woman," my idea was that Fang has trouble addressing Brook as mom because she doesn't feel like one/he doesn't even know what one does feel like and he doesn't know if he should call her Brook, since technically, he is her kid… So it's sort of his inner dilemma. Sorry if that was unclear. Thank you again for reading and reviewing! Let's hear it for being able to stay up to 11 just to read fanfiction.

Loved your review, as per usual, Dancing On My Toes. I really appreciate the detail you put into reviewing and everything you say. I'm glad you appreciated Fang and Brook getting closer, which is definitely a subplot of the story. I'm also a major music lover, so as you noticed, that plays a major role. Thanks for pointing out your thoughts on the Ig/Fang relationship, and the way you worded their personalities as: _"but I think Fang gets mis-interpreted sometimes. He doesn't want to be closed off - he just is, like Iggy is naturally funny and pale. It's a part of who he is - even if it developed as a defense mechanism from the school or whatever."_ was right on. Surprisingly, I do agree with you on some levels (though the story may not have reflected that) but I tried to put a little more of that "he's just being him" thing into this one. Plus I really wanted to write about what the two argued about, even if it was a little OOC, which is an author flaw of mine, I'll admit. Still, I'm glad you liked the chapter, and no, though I am a horse person, I certainly have friends who are not but have picked up the lingo. Thanks so much!

IwriteUread, as usual, you are the subject of my adoration and thanks. I love seeing a familiar face among reviewers, and I'm really glad you like it and that you thought I wrote the last chapter correctly. Phew!

Thanks, JealousMindsThinkAlike! I love seeing your reviews each chapter and I love your profile picture/avatar, with the eraser. That's basically my family's reaction whenever I mention them.

Hmm… I'm working on the baton twirling, Amber :) I'm so glad you liked the chapter, and that you review each time! I love it. And that you were listening to piano music while reading. I admit-and this has nearly been the end of me in the past-that I have not yet seen Forrest Gump, though I swear I've been meaning to! But we do own the soundtrack, so I'll get on it. I really do like Brook's character, I've worked on her a lot, so I'm glad you're getting a little fonder. As for Fang knowing Ari was Max's brother, this takes place like, right after _STWAOES_, and my take was that they didn't talk much about the separation, so I've been thinking that aside the incident in _TAE _when Jeb was all, "you killed your own brother!" the boys don't know the details about what the girls did and vice versa. Thank you so, so much! Your reviews make me smile.

And thank you to all readers, as well.

**XXXXX**

Day 99

_Still raining?_ I typed and groaned aloud when he beamed back a one-word reply of _yes._ We can and will fly in the rain, but given that it's practically suicide in thunderstorms and the amount of time it takes our wings to dry, let's just say it's not a comfortable experience. According to His Darkness, it had been cloudy if not raining for the past ten days.

_Well, you're in luck! _I grinned, relieved that Ella had shown me how to take pictures on her digital camera and load them onto the computer before she had skedaddled off to her lacrosse practice. _Check your wall!_

He didn't reply for a moment and I had to content myself with imagining his expression when he enlarged the photo. It was easy, easy to see his look of suppressed happiness, the mere gleam in his eye and twitch at the corner of his mouth. His brow would furrow ever so slightly, thinking about whatever the photo reminded him of, and then he'd normally turn to me and smile that lopsided smile of his.

For now, I had to trade this smile in for a worded reply on a screen.

He loved the stars. We had never seen them while imprisoned at the School and had only heard rumors of moons affecting tides, whatever those were. It wasn't until our first night of freedom when he had come bolting into my room to yank me awake and pull me to the big window. We sat awake with our faces pressed up against the glass until Jeb collected us for breakfast the next morning. Once we had learned about the outside and what it meant, we had stayed up late into the night, picking out our own constellations and making up stories about them. It had taken forever to get my pictures of the Arizona night sky just right, but maybe now he had something to remind him of forever ago when we were still together and safe. Back when we lived as a family in a house with enough to eat, our own beds, and only the fear of our pasts and nightmares, not like the present when every twig snapping made me jump, thinking _Eraser!_

The computer surprised me out of my reverie with a little _ping_, notifying me of a reply while also scaring the frijoles out of me.

_Thanks._

_ Have you been stuck inside?_ I replied. _If the weather's been bad for so long?_

_ No. We don't mind the rain too much, it's just a pain to dry the feathers without the sun, so sometimes we go on walks or something just to stretch our legs but not make her crazy by flinging water everywhere when we come inside. _

_ Ooh. Is she a strict cleaner?_

_ Actually, not really. She doesn't care if we go outside and get wet as long as we don't track mud on the carpet. Plus she comes in so dirty after barn chores that she lined up a semi-permanent walkway of towels toward the bathroom, so we're set._

_ How many horses does she have?_

_ Six._

_ …description, por favore? Names?_

_ Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, and Cupid._

I rolled my eyes. That comedian. _Haha. Seriously._

_ There's Crazy Horse-her secret favorite and best friend-named after a Native Am. Chief. Chopin, who has some piano composer to thank for his name, Georgia O'Keefe, named after a painter. Then there's Queen Elizabeth the First-I think that speaks for itself, name wise-and Hatshepsut, another queen. Last but not least there's Epona, goddess of horses. The kids shorten some of the names to Craze, Georgie or Georgia OK, and usually just call QEI Elizabeth. However, she usually uses full names._

So she didn't sound like a secret ax murderer. I was making a mental list. _Do you and Ig like them?_

_ Yeah, I guess. We haven't spent a lot of time with them since they're really antsy in the rain._

_ I'll bet. What happens in thunderstorms?_

_ Hell. Breaks. Loose._

_ Ouch, yeah. _And I thought Total was bad. _Flighty little suckers, aren't they?_

_ Not so little, but otherwise, yes. I went down to ask her something the other night during a storm and didn't realize that Crazy Horse was sick. I ended up helping her until about three, so I have ample proof of this statement._

_ 3AM? Tell me more._

_ I'm rolling my eyes. Anyway. Craze was colicking-like the horse version of the stomach bug but about then times worse-and once she was okay we fed all six and she played the piano to calm them down._

Did this qualify her as potential ax murderer potential? I usually associated craziness with ax murderers, though she hadn't seemed off her rocker when mom talked to her on the phone. However… _she plays the piano? For horses? In the middle of the night?_

_ My thoughts exactly, but she's like freaking Mozart and they calm right down. I think it's therapeutic for her, too. I don't think she talks to her parents anymore, though I don't know. I don't really know anything about her past. _There was a pause in which I seriously considered the weight behind this statement and whether or not I could trust Brook Hufftalen, but then Fang sent another message. _Sorry, rephrase: I don't think she's hiding anything, I just don't think she talks about it. Like, think about it. She's out in the middle of Montana with only six horses and a dog for company. How did she get here? She has no college paraphernalia or postcards from anyone stuck to the walls like your mom and Jeb did. I just feel like… she's one of those people who had a point in their lives when they can say "my life sucks" with real meaning._

_ Got it. _ I typed. _And you stayed down with her until three?_

_ She stayed later._

_ Why did you go down originally?_

There was a bit too long of a pause before he replied. _See if she needed help._ I knew that if he wasn't lying, he was stretching the truth. He knew it. I knew it. And if I knew him, he knew he hadn't fooled me. How's that for a whole lot of knowing? If we had been talking about anybody but his mother, I might have choked it out of him, but even if this whole conversation wasn't taking place on a screen, I knew where his borders were and which ones he would cross. Fang was naturally reserved. He didn't like worrying people with his own troubles and especially didn't like anyone knowing he was feeling anything else besides what he showed them. Maybe it was a bit of scarring from the School, when they targeted not only you but also what you loved, maybe it was just natural reservation, and maybe it was a little of both. He didn't like seeming weak or looking as if he needed help. Iggy and I had nearly killed him over this a million times because all we want is just to be let in, to help him if he needed it, but Fang was adamantly opposed to any such things. Meaning it was time to change the subject.

_Do you ever go down to the barn?_

_ Sometimes._

_ Who's your favorite?_

_ I didn't know I was signing on to an interrogation session._

_ If you were here, I'd hit you. C'mon! Tell me. I don't see you guys anymore. It's weird. I want to know what it's like up there!_

_ Excuses. _I could just imagine his rolling eyes. _Crazy Horse is my favorite. Chopin's psycho, he just runs around his pasture all day, nonstop. I'm not even kidding. Can horses be ADHD? Then Elizabeth is so prim, like you can tell she doesn't like getting dirty, though it's pretty funny when she decides that one of the other horses is ticking her off, because she'll push 'em down into the mud anyway. Apparently she's also the leader on the trails. I don't know much about the others since if we go down; I usually hang with Crazy, though Epona is Iggy's favorite. She's quiet and calm and levelheaded. How's Sirius?_

_ Warming my feet. _I laughed. He was sitting on my stomach in the living room while my wings dried from an afternoon swim. The little rat gnawed on Ella's sneaker while heating my chilly toes. _The coffee mix isn't working yet, though I'm persevering. He's gained a few pounds, if anything._

_ Probably because of his new diet._

_ Yeah right! He loves his new diet._

_ Dumbledore says that humans have a knack for choosing the things that are worst for them or something like that._

_ And we all know D's word is law, even if Sirius isn't a human._

_ True that._

_ How's Ig?_

_ Fine._

_ No, really. _I knew it. _You guys fighting?_

_ No._

_ Then what's up? And don't lie._

_ We argued. Past tense. We're fine now._

I frowned. _About what?_

_ He likes her. Doesn't think I take risks, says I "should be grateful she's so cool."_

_ Ah. What'd you say?_

_ Well, I get it. She is nice. Quiet. Kind. But I told him it didn't change anything-we don't belong here. He knows that._

_ Then what?_

_ …he said I don't allow myself to care about people. Which isn't true, by the way, in case you're calling Dr. Phil right now for your little emo sidekick who needs some antidepressants. But he should know what I'm talking about, you know? We can't make friends, whether or not we want to. He says that's not the point, that I should still appreciate her._

_ Yeah. I get it. Those jerkwads kind of killed him when they tried to sell him._

_ Bastards._

_ You guys okay though?_

_ Wasn't a big argument, we're fine. I just think he's a little too willing to care about people who just end up hurt because of us. I'm sending you a CD of him on the piano, by the way. It's ridiculous, and by that I mean flawless._

I smiled, allowing myself to appreciate this for a moment before addressing him. _Hey, Fang?_

_ Hey, Max?_

_ Why does Iggy think Brook's nice? Aside from the whole not turning traitor thing, because the longer I pretend to be normal the more I realize that there are other redeemable qualities to notice._

_ No, really?_

_ Seriously. Give me three._

_ Ig says anyone who has that many animal friends has "clearly done something right. Unless the friends include Total or are stuffed." He loves her music and she's really laid back._

_ But what do _you _think?_

He waited, either thinking or avoiding the question, but eventually he came up with what I had already guessed. _I don't know._

_ We'll take it slow then. Do you think she has redeemable qualities?_

I could picture his expression perfectly and the smart-ass look he'd send my way if I had ever actually stated this to him.

_Sure. But… _it was wordless. But I still don't know how I ended up with the whitecoats or any of her history. Who my father was. He did not want to push these thoughts on me, that natural reservation kicking in, but I recognized them all the same. We were always second-guessing any fortune that came into our lives, parents included. And parents, as a rule, came with a lot of strings.

_Yeah. _I typed. _So you know how I finished _Harry Potter_?_

_ You kind of rubbed it in everyone's faces._

_ Shut up. Anyway, once you have finished, I have a new series for you! _Percy Jackson and the Olympians _by Rick… Riordan? I can't remember his last name. They're amazing and make me laugh._

_ Iggy had me read _An Abundance of Katherines _to him by John Green. She picked up some books for us from the library in town so he's getting in touch with his right brain out here._

_ Did I tell you that Ella wants me to join her bookclub?_

_ Nope. I take it you have no desire to?_

_ Correct._

_ Probably because you would take the closest one out if she so much as reached for her knitting needles too quickly. _

_ Very amusing, Mr. Whit._

_ That's what they call me._

"Max?"

I looked up to see Ella in the doorway, though I was already halfway through typing a snarky reply. She had a backpack fit to bursting on her shoulders and hadn't even taken a shower yet. Reason #3,283 why I had no desire to go to school: homework ruins lives. "Sorry to interrupt, but I really need to type up my lab report." Groaning in frustration, she dumped her school stuff on the floor and flopped down into her messily made bed. "Do you know anything about dissolved oxygen?"

"A little." I sighed. Thank you, psycho scientists who raised me. I couldn't divide to save my life, but science? That I could do. Though I loved to help Ella in any way I could, meager payment for all she and mom had done for me, I internally detested becoming Ella's go-to science guru. As if the scarring memories weren't enough, I still had so much to tell him! There was the joke I had heard two girls laughing over at the town diner and the new candy shop in town (I was sending the boys some white chocolate and fudge), and the successful batch of cookies I had made. Stuff he would know had we been together. Plus, I was really curious about the woman whom he would not admit to having any sort of relationship with. He wasn't quite ready for my barrage of questions, though, so I kept reminding myself to take it slowly and not ask such things when we weren't face to face. Our paranoia-and our feelings-didn't allow speaking about personal matters if there was any way we could be recorded. If I was in Fang's situation, still majorly unsure about a suddenly present mother, I knew I wouldn't want to talk about it online either.

_I've gotta go-Ella has to type. _

_ Later._

_ See you._

_ Hey-thanks for giving me the stars._

I smiled, unsure of why this probably literal comment made my heart ache to see him. _Of course. Anytime._

_ Well, bye._

_ Say hi to Ig for me. Try not to kill each other._

_ Will do._

_ Stay safe?_

_ You two._

_ Officially this time?_

_ Bet Ella's frustrated._

_ Nah. She doesn't want to write a lab report any more than I do._

_ But she should._

_ Probably._

_ So…_

_ Bye._

_ Bye._

"You know, you could just call him," said Ella as I logged off and handed her the laptop. I reached around and pulled Sirius closer, burying my head in his silky dark fur.

"Nah, I don't like talking to them. This is easier." Because when we hung up, I was alone all over again. Had I ever really called myself independent? Right…

Ella's hot chocolate eyes swam with concern, but I brushed her away and headed off to find some cookie dough before she could say anything sympathetic. I had no desire to exacerbate Flock Withdrawal Syndrome.


	11. You Told the Drunks I Knew Karate

Hey everyone! I'm looking forward to hearing your opinions on this chapter.

JealousMindsThinkAlike, I'm so glad I can update for you. Thank you!

IwriteUread, as always, thank you. Your reviews bring me smiles.

Hey, Amber! Er… yeah. I'll get on to watching _Forrest Gump_. Promise. At some point. Anyway, I have heard Katy Perry's E.T. song, though. And thank you so much for your awesome reviews, as per usual. It's very humbling and it makes me so happy that you really liked it. I'm definitely trying to get some Fang/Brook relationship going on, along with Fang/Max (of course, haha). Stay awesome right back atcha.

Hellewise14… um, can I just say thanks? Does that word even have meaning anymore, given the amount I use it? I'm so glad you like it and I love, love, love seeing your reviews each chapter. And yeah, Max is definitely suffering from some major FWS, but don't worry, there's nothing better for Flock Withdrawel Syndrome then… getting back together with the flock?

And thanks to all readers

XXXXX

Day 102

"So then I had this really excellent lamb stew! I mean, lamb, who knew? Although I feel kind of guilty because I do think lambs are really cute, you know? But mom said it was organically raised on a farm with little lamb friends, so I feel a little better. Plus it kept me full for longer than an hour, which is good. Tell Iggy that he should make some. Does Brook have sheep?"

"Iggy can hear the Nudge Channel," Fang heard Ig mutter from the couch, despite having a pillow over his head. "Since it's on full blast. We probably don't even need the phone on speaker."

"No! I wanted to talk to both of you because I haven't in, like, _ages_."

"No sheep here," Fang said. "But how are you, Nudge? And the kids?"

"We're good. We're all good. We haven't even seen any bad guys yet! My parents are really nice-they feeds us and buy us clothes and crayons and pencils and paper and mom took us sightseeing around Philadelphia. She's a fifth grade English teacher at this Catholic school a few blocks down so we have to stay home when she's not here and dad's at work-he's also a teacher, but he works at the college-but sometimes we go on walks to the park or library, which has this really neat playground out back. Gaz and I play with his racecars and shoot them down the slide and Angel loves the swings. The apartment is a little cramped with all of us, but we've got a balcony with a great view. Mom grows tons of flowers out there; chrysanthemums and marigold and lilies and all sorts of things! When it's warm we leave the door open so the rest of the house smells like her garden. Then when mom comes home, she homeschools us, too! I'm so much better at reading now, and Gazzy loves multiplication. Weird, I know. Did I tell you about the movie we saw?"

Nudge paused, but whether it was to catch her breath or actually let them answer, Fang was unsure. Taking advantage of the silence, Iggy said "no" before she could go on.

"Well, it was really good. Lots of action and mystery and Angelina Jolie was the heroine. I signed up for acting classes with the theater group at mom's school, and I was thinking how cool it would be if I could be like Angelina Jolie someday. Like, not with all the jungle children, but a really good and famous actress. We're performing _Princess and the Frog_. I'm the princess's friend, Charlotte. What are you guys doing? I've only been talking about myself-sorry-but how are _you _doing?"

Fang let Iggy take care of that question, and the pair talked for the next ten minutes until Gazzy grabbed the phone, said hi to Fang, then launched into a speech using a lot of big words that started with Greek terms and ended with –ide that Fang decided not to mention to Max. Between he, Nudge, and finally little Angel, they spoke for over an hour.

"Hey, Fang?" Angel piped up as a woman's voice called the kids for dinner.

"Yeah?" He had an eerie feeling about where this was going.

"It'll be all right, okay? You'll figure everything out."

"What?"

"Everything." She said sweetly, pretending that he hadn't asked this out of surprise. "Bye bye!"

Leaving with that, she hung up.

Day 105

The house was so quiet at night. With Iggy, Mr. Darcy, and the woman asleep, the usually bubbling house was reduced to near silence. There was no piano music, no whines or scratches at the door, no soft chatter or clattering of Iggy in the kitchen, no stereo playing Bach's concerto on guitar. Fang figured that this was what the house sounded like when She and her dog were outside and Fang and Iggy had never even heard of the place, let alone stepped foot inside. It sounded… empty. However, something always appeared to be on the move outside. Wind chattered around the corners of the house, and occasionally he could hear something from the barn. A horse stamping a hoof against the ground, or a low whicker. They were hushed tonight, wary of the pack of wolves howling not too far away. They had been locked in their stalls, just in case.

He and Iggy had flew all over today, checking out the surrounding forests, far off mountains, and marking safe places they could hide out or meet in the event that something went wrong. Ig had been his usual jokester self, and it had been nice to get away from the house and laugh. But now he was tired; the comforter felt too warm and too cold all at once, the pillow uncomfortably soft but the bed too hard. It was frustrating that he had been able to sleep on cave floors, in subway tunnels, on the roofs of abandoned squatter homes, but he couldn't fall asleep in a normal human bed. Reason #51 why this attempt at normalcy wouldn't work out: _because the flock wasn't normal._

He wiggled around and looked out the window, eyeing the stars that had finally deigned to make an appearance. They were bright tonight, as they always were this time of month. He wondered if anyone else in the world stayed up to twelve at night to look at stars. He wondered if Max did.

It was at that moment that quiet was broken by the piercing ring of the telephone. Fang jolted to his feet, momentarily tripping on his blankets, only to realize that the sound was perfectly normal and therefore no excuse to go hobbling about with one leg entangled in sheets. He heard some muttered curses and someone else stumbling to their feet, then a croaky female voice mutter, "hello? This had better be good."

Fang contemplated changing into jeans and heading out for a flight. He wasn't getting to sleep anytime soon, might as well make the most of a starry night. But then the woman's querulous voice calmed as he heard her say, "oh. He might be asleep… well, at any rate; the ring probably woke him up… I'll knock on his door."

So it was for either he or Iggy, and seeing as she didn't stop outside of Iggy's door to knock, the caller was asking for him. The only people who knew he was staying here were the flock, Dr. M and Jeb. Jeb and Dr. M would only call if it was an emergency, and if it wasn't them, Max was the only one who would call in the middle of the night. Meaning either option was more important than allowing her to see him in his pajamas. He opened the door to see the woman about to knock, and her mouth quirked into a smile, her teeth gleaming in the night light.

"I trust you heard?" She held out the phone. "It's for you."

Fang waited until he heard her bedroom door shut and the creak of her bed before holding the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Oh, how I enjoy hearing your dulcet tones. Tell me, were you actually asleep?" She was whispering.

"Max, it's…" he checked the clock. "Twelve forty-two AM."

"_Were _you?" She insisted. He smirked despite himself.

"No."

"Thought not. Therefore, you have no excuse to complain."

"I wasn't complaining."

"Meaning we can skip out on this whole conversation? Excellent."

"Yo-Fangalator! I don't care how many of your Fangirls call but make an attempt to whisper."

He rolled his eyes, sinking back into his bed and not deigning to give that a response. Damn superbirdkid hearing.

"Please just tell me you're calling from Dr. M's, are in perfectly good health, are not being held at gunpoint, and are otherwise in a perfectly normal situation." He whispered, fists tight until she laughed softly.

"I'm fine. Really. So… how're things?"

"You called me at twelve forty-three. In the morning. To ask 'how are things?'"

"Oh, you can pretend you're angry with me but you are totally glad that I'm calling at twelve forty-something in the morning just to talk to you. Now, how are things?"

"…fine. You?"

"They're good. I walked Ella to school today. It was pretty fun, we met up with her friends Mei and Celine and they debated Orlando Bloom versus Johnny Depp for three blocks. Except I had to get up at 6:30 and I stayed up until one last night so I should be exhausted, but I can't sleep. I walked around for a while, but the floorboards kept creaking and then I woke up Magnolia and she kept following me everywhere. You remember how long her toenails are?

He waited, smiling as he leaned back against his pillows.

"Yeah, they kept clicking on the wood. Finally mom got up and told me that if I can't sleep I need to either stop drinking green tea-which is _delicious _-or find some quiet way to spend my time. I went flying for a while, but then I came back and decided to call you. Midday through the second ring I realized it was probably too late to call when Brook picked up and sounded like she had just woken up."

"Yeah. She'll get over it, though."

"Good. I wouldn't want her turning all ax-murderer on you because of my call. If I wanted to make her go crazy and become extremely fond of axes, I would want to do something really creative and interesting."

"Oh? Any ideas?"

"Hmm… well, I could have you take pictures of her bedroom for me and then I'd send them to her with weird, stalker messages and steadily convince her that killing everyone she sees is the only way to stop the stalker."

"Been watching more horror movies, have we?"

"I'm in the middle of an Alfred Hitchcock marathon that continues sometime later today, I'd guess. Ella loves them, but mom thinks we're crazy."

Fang closed his eyes, smiling as he let Max's soft whisper lull him into a sense of peacefulness, one he had not truly felt until their day by the riverbed, eating Hershey chocolate and talking _Harry Potter,_ and before that? It had been too long. She talked about some family in _The Shining _who were taking care of an empty mountainside hotel when the father went crazy and tried to kill his wife and son and the _Scream _movies, which made fun of the more ridiculous horror movies out there. She went on to describe _The Orphan _("lame to the extreme")_, Disturbia _("word up, the creeper not only kills people, but isn't paranoid enough to make sure people can't break into his house? He clearly has no idea how to hide his illegal activities")_, Blair Witch Project _("it's the reason I didn't want to go outside right now, uh, I mean, _stop smirking! _I know you are, don't pretend you're not. It's not the sole reason. I was cold. Yes, I was. It gets cold in Arizona at night! Shut up or I'm hanging up."), _Halloween _("major creepy"), both versions of _Sweeney Todd _("one word of advice: never go to a barber, just let Nudge cut your hair."), and _The Rocky Horror Picture Show _("which is the ultimate parody of horror. I mean, it's a musical. I'll have to watch it with you and Ig sometime when the kids aren't with us because it's a little, well, raunchy.")

"I'm sorry," she murmured after a beat of silence while he was still trying to process her description of _Rocky Horror_, which included Transylvanians, transsexuals, fishnet stockings, and a sketchy house on a hill. "You're probably tired, too, and I'm just rambling on-"

"No, it's fine. I'm just processing and trying to picture Tim Curry in fishnets, but I'm not really sure if I want to."

Her apologies evaporated immediately as she laughed. "It's a sight to see, certainly. You seen any good movies?"

"Eh. Iggy dared me to watch an episode of _Toddlers in Tiaras_-long story-which is basically this show about crazy mothers who get their kids into sparkly pastel dresses and watch their kids crawl across a stage."

"Sounds scarring." He had made her laugh again, making him grin up at the ceiling. "What spurred this torture?"

"I'm not really sure how it started… but one thing led to another and now we're kind of in the middle of a prank war. All in good fun, I swear."

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." He could hear her smiling on the other end, then a sharp intake of breath as she tried to mask a yawn.

"Hey," he said, "you've had a long haul, I should sign off-"

Her voice was urgent, a sharp "no!" that jarred this eardrums, given that they had been speaking in whispers until this point. "Sorry," she continued. "I mean, if you want to stop talking with me, feel free. Not that you're doing a lot of talking. But I just kind of sort of felt like I needed to hear your voice."

Fang closed his eyes, just wishing he could preserve this moment forever, this feeling of tranquility that came with her soothing voice in his ear and celestial light shining through the window to his bed. When Max was whispering of ridiculous movies and teasing him and assuring him that she was still _there_ and that she had not forgotten about him, all his concerns about the woman who was supposed to be his mother and the separation and their enemies felt… inconsequential. He could hear her gentle breathing through the phone. Max had always been an anxious person. Had she not been forced into the mixture of leader/mother/protector role that she was now, she may never have turned into someone who looked up at the sky at night and worried about her charges and whether or not they were safe. Had she been given the life she should have had, Fang wondered if she would ever be able to calm down and stop worrying about everyone, or if this trait was part of her, wings or no wings.

So that's what Max was doing, wandering around the house at night and avoiding the woods that reminded her of _The_ _Blair Witch Project_: worrying. About Fang. If he was safe. If he wanted to stay with Brook Hufftalen after the year was over. If he wanted to leave her. _Again_, he added in his mind, wincing. He knew her well enough to be positive that these thoughts raced through her insecure mind. For being so strong and tenacious, if you knew where to look, Max had weaknesses he hoped the whitecoats never noticed. If they had to force her into working with them, all they had to do was threaten another member of the flock. Fang hated that he made her worry, though a secret part of him ached with pleasure to know that she still cared about him, that he hadn't completely wrecked their friendship by leaving her with Ari.

"Fang?"

Oh, damn. Now she thought he was weirded out and going to hang up.

"Hey."

"Uh, hey. I… what I mean-"

"Max?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you called."

"Oh. That's good. I think I am, too."

He smiled. "That's good."

"You flatter me. Hey, is it still cloudy there?"

"Nope."

"Well, can you see that series of stars, the three that arch in a curve then sort of fall and break in two, like a V?"

He took a moment to see if he could locate this collection of stars, one he recognized from long ago. "Mhm. You remember the story?"

"Of course I do, numskull."

"Tell me?"

Max laughed again, making his heart clench with longing to hear her laugh next to him, not over a phone a hundred miles away. "Well, we had just escaped from the School. It was the second night and the rain had finally stopped. I had just put the siblings to be when you came into my room. I was… pretty tired, to be honest, and you didn't look your best, either. Either way, you came in and gestured out the door. I had already gotten into bed and wasn't really interested in having any midnight forays, but I could tell by your expression that it was important, that whatever 'it' was meant something. You led me out from the hallway into the kitchen, which was bathed in an eerie light from the moon's light shining through the raindrops on the windows. I pulled my blanket tight around my shoulders, chilly, but I didn't want to seem like a wimp, so I followed you out the porch door.

"I remember that the fresh air stung my skin after having lived inside for so long. I noticed how strange the breeze felt-cool and damp and soft, kind of like feathers. We had gone barefoot, never having worn shoes in the past, and the grass-pine needle mix that made up our yard was so comfortable and springy that I felt comfortable enough to run to where you waited on the edge of the cliff. The view was fantastic, made up of sky-scraping mountains and low-lying forests that we'd eventually explore. But I was caught up in the sight that had so captivated you-the little pinpricks of light in the sky."

Fang was smiling, his eyes closed, giving into the feeling of peacefulness that had stolen over him as Max elaborated on the mythology they had made up to encompass that first night they had stayed up together to look at the stars. She narrated how he had pulled out a book, stolen from Jeb's study, that had a big picture of a nebula on the cover and how it had been entitled _Ad Astra_, but they hadn't been able to read and so just flipped the book open to look at the pictures and compare them to the sky above. They hadn't been able to find the constellations from the books, connected by little white lines, but understood that they were pictures in the sky. There was a group that looked almost like a wind, and then could be connected to a pair of legs.

"Birds don't have legs that long," she had told him, pointing it out. "It must be a birdkid. Like us." He had given her a look, and she had rolled her eyes. "Okay, maybe not exactly like us. Nobody can hurt that birdkid, or make her do anything she doesn't want to do. But she's still misunderstood, a mutant that none of the other creatures up there like to associate with."

"Others?"

"There's a bear, and if you twist your head like this, that group there kind of looks like a wolf." Fang had smiled, humoring her, and pointed out his own find, a horse. Max nodded, thrilled that he was playing along. "Yeah, so you have the bears and the wolves and the horses, not to mention all the other creatures, but there aren't any other birdkids."

It was a story she had made up on the spot about a person not unlike themselves. Part bird. Alone. Abused. Forgotten. She made up an entire story about the child, who fought on her own for survival and to be recognized until she had finally met her match. Some of the other stars didn't think she was beautiful enough to be a part of their solar system and wanted to cast her down to earth. They had beaten her to such an extent that she fell, having just lost her grip on the sky above. But just as she let go, another hand reached down to grab hers. "Stop!" She yelled. "You'll fall, too!"

But he didn't because, like her, he also had wings. And arms. He was also a birdkid.

"And so the new birdkid helped the first birdkid back into her spot among the stars and said, 'I think we can make it as long as we watch each other's backs, don't you?' The girl nodded, smiling at this idea of a friend in the sky. After a time, when the other stars noticed the kind companionship of the two birdkids, they recognized that there were more important things than being the only stars in the sky and reached out their arms to the birdkids. Thanks to the friendship of two people, they convinced the others that fighting to shine brightest is not the path to take, but instead to live at peace with each other.

"And after I finished coming up with the story, you gave me this look that said, _you total sap_, but I could tell that you appreciated it all the same. Even if it was a little too sentimental, a little too hopeful, a little too bright, I could see that you wanted things to work out for us like they had for the star-birdkids."

"Maybe." Fang mumbled, stifling a yawn. Max tried, but didn't quite succeed.

"Hey, Fang? You remember the story you came up with for the two birdkids?"

They had a whole saga of stories about the two birdkids, thanks to being young and free and optimistic. "Yep."

"Tell it to me?"

Didn't she know by now that she didn't have to ask him to do anything? How could he say no to a question like that? To hell if they ended up talking all night, eventually dozing off near dawn to the sound of each other's voices. When Brook Hufftalen walked in on silent cat feet the next morning to retrieve the phone, she had to pause when she saw her son asleep with the phone by his ear and a smile on his face. For the first time since having met him, he looked peaceful.


	12. Payphone

Greetings, friends! Here's hoping my computer doesn't die before I update this.

Hey, JealousMindsThinkAlike. Here's your update, with more awww worthy moments, I hope. And plenty on the way :)

IwriteUread! Hi! I love me some cute FangxMax interaction. Here's to more coming your way…

Hellewise14, oh, gods, Tim Curry… that's all I have to say. Thanks!

FoReVeR-TwIrLeR… lookin' for more awwwww moments? I love them too-and glad you liked that last bit. I wasn't originally intending to put it in, but then it just came and I was like, hey! That's an adorable idea! So I'm glad you liked it. Just so you know-I added _Forrest Gump _to my list of Must See Movies. High five!

Hi, dancingonmytoes13. Thanks for checking in! I'm hoping you'll enjoy some aww moments coming up in this and the next few chapters…

Thanks everyone!

And as a general note, I used the terms "Pepe" and "Oma" in relation-AHH! Reserve battery power! Damn! Saving fast JIC!-anyway, and I know that Pepe is French for grandfather and Oma is German for grandmother, but this is what I called my grandmother and call my grandfather, so it's sort of a tribute. Enjoy the chapter! Sorry for an spelling/grammatical errors, I _really _need to do some HW as I missed the past two days of school for a French trip to Quebec City. It. Was. Awesome.

**XXXXX**

Day 111

There truly is nothing like flying. Yeah, I was flying alone and it was midday (note: night flying is just… amazing. It's indescribable, and even better than flying in general) but I still missed my flock like the Tin Man did his heart. I had been coasting along since early that morning when I had left Ella at the end of her driveway for the bus. Where was I? Good question. Somewhere northwestish of Arizona. Wyoming, maybe? It was a beautiful day, the sun warmed my feathers and my stomach was nice and full from a chocolate granola bar and cookies. This was the farthest and longest I had flown in a long time and my wings were beginning to feel the strain, but I _loved _it. Nothing for obsessive and anxious thoughts like vigorous exercise! Jenny Craig would love me. Minus the obsession with chocolate. Dusk was falling and the sunset was colored sherbert, and despite all my thoughts and worries and heartache, it was peaceful. Pleasant.

But this is me, right? So you can guess that as I ducked lower than usual above a faraway lake, things would not go my way. This meaning there was a sharp crack, not dissimilar to the creaks of the trees blowing in the wind. I felt a sharp pain right at the base of my wings even as I rolled to the side, and though I held back a yell of pain, it was almost worse to realize that I couldn't flap.

_C'mon, Max, think! _I couldn't fly, but the piñata point wasn't in the larger section of my wing, so I could try-ouch, yep!-I could glide clumsily. Still, I was descending way too fast for my liking and I couldn't aim worth squat. I had enough time to swear quite a bit, thinking of the hunter below, and direct myself toward a more secluded waterway. There was a wider branch in the river, hopefully with no big rocks concealed beneath the surface, and I would have enough room to maneuver my wings and… land in the river.

I emerged, coughing and spluttering, and yet completely stunned by the temperature of the water. The current tugged at my body and wing, yanking on my already throbbing shoulder. I needed to get out of the water and hide from whatever it was, good or evil, that had grounded me. I thought about getting to shore and flying somewhere safer, thinking about where the wound was located, but no such luck. When I struck toward the shore and untied my windbreaker from around my waist, it was clear that I would not be flying anywhere.

Again, more swear words. Thank you, late night television. Still cursing, I maneuvered the light jacket with the arm that didn't protest with movement and pulled it over my shoulders and-

_What was that?_

Probably the nut that _shot _you, numbskull!

I wasn't going to stick around and find out. I began to trot upstream, trying to stay in the shallows so I wouldn't leave a trail. Rich red blood dripped down from my back and the wound ached throughout my entire left side, despite the numbing sensation in my feet. Someone whistled in the distance. A signal to reinforcements? I picked up the pace, hearing my heart race in anxiety. But the sound was quickly followed by an older man's voice.

"C'mon, Lucky! The bird fell this way!"

A dog barked. This situation just kept getting better and better. The dog wruffed again, and a younger girl called out to him, echoing through the woods. I could see them now, flashes in between the trees. There was an older man, surprisingly limber for his age, a young girl in hunting girl, and a dog that looked so much like Sirius that I almost called out.

"Didja get it, Pepe? Can Oma and I make duck stew for dinner? It was a duck, right?"

I didn't drop my speed, but this was slightly reassuring. I had been flying low, and if this trio was real and found me, it's not like I had anything to hide. Except the wings. Better not be found, either way. I picked up the pace.

An hour or so later, the sun had disappeared completely. I was cold, tired, hurt, hungry, and my backpack was at mom's. Fantastic. So much for my world-renowned preparation skills. The only bright was that I had long ago lost my pursuers, but I was still stuck in a situation very similar to when I had first met Ella, and I doubted I could another friendly family of people who were good and kind and didn't ask questions. I hadn't been in one of these situations for weeks; I was out of practice. In the time when I still cared about what Jeb did, he would have been furious at me for even considering asking for help.

I ordered myself to think, to figure it out for myself. I couldn't fly and I was feeling lightheaded, but I could still walk and run. This, though slightly comforting, was not exactly cause for celebration. Yeah, so I was stuck in The Middle of Nowhere, USA, and I had to walk to Arizona? Fang would have killed me for landing in this situation.

Fang.

The second I thought of this, I scoffed and shook my head. Fang couldn't very well fly from Montana to… here just to walk me back to AZ. I was hurt, alone, and hundreds of miles from anyone I trusted. But I won't deny that the thought of my right wing man made me feel better. Not that he wouldn't _totally _chew me out for this ("you forgot it was hunting season and flew that close to a lake? Are you truly as insane as you look?" etc.) but he would have some half-sarcastic-3/4 amusing-1/4 helpful remark that would me laugh, and then his dark eyes would flicker with the hint of some warmth. It might be the only heat I'd feel all night-it was dark and chilly and my wet body shivered violently-so I held that thought tight as I began to walk westward.

Day 112

The phone rang.

God, he hated that noise.

From the living room, he could hear her piano-playing stop, and there was the sound of footsteps as she crossed the study. Fang tried to shake off the sudden, almost empty feeling as the music stopped and concentrated on _The Lightning Thief_. Max would have been disappointed on his inability to concentrate on a twelve year old with a pen, but he had just started the book and it probably got better unless Max had some strange fascination with twelve-year-old boys wielding pens. Well, she _did _have a voice in her head. But finishing it would give him another reason to contact her.

"Oh, hello, Valencia. I hope all is well?"

Fang and Iggy both stopped in their tracks, concentrating fiercely on the muffled voice behind the door.

"Yeah, I think they're doing okay. From my point of view, anyway. I haven't seen them smuggle knives anywhere or sacrifice barn rats to obscure gods, but would you like to speak with them?" Pause. "Oh…" Another pause. Fang was bending the spine of the book nearly in half until she spoke again and he bolted to his feet. "I'll put Fang on."

Fang was at the door as she opened it, phone in hand. Valencia was Dr. Martinez. Max's mom. Dr. M had never called before and it didn't seem like a social call. Meaning she was concerned because something had happened, which meant…

"What happened to her? Is she okay?" Fang demanded before the phone was even to his ear. Dr. M took a deep breath, he could hear it as she paced around the room.

"Don't fly off the handle, Fang." She warned, trying to sound calm but Fang recognized the undercurrent of worry and anxiety. "Max went out flying early yesterday morning. She-"

"Hasn't come back yet." Fang finished for her, all his worst fears coming true. Iggy was pale, face grim. She was frowning. He didn't want to look at them, see what they would say.

"She evidentially is not with you, as I had hoped. Now, please listen to me, Fang. This can't be big news, and if the worst has happened, you can't go rushing into the unknown. I'm going to call Nudge's mother-no need to worry the kids-then I'll call you right back. Please, you and Iggy sit tight. I'll call back in two minutes."

Before he could even articulate a reply, the line went dead. Fang cursed under his breath. Did she have any idea what the School could do to someone in an hour, let alone twenty-four? This wasn't like when Max had disappeared helping Ella. This time, the flock was spread thin, far too thin. She was alone and no one knew where. She hadn't been seen for a day. He wasn't there to help her, to protect her. This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to do this-because bad things happened and he couldn't stop them.

He stared out the window, taking in the grassy fields. Crazy was racing Elizabeth in the view of the mountains. He had to keep calm. Max was alone, but she was certainly capable and for all he knew, she was at some ice cream parlor in Miami, having a snack before she cooled off in the ocean. Where there were sharks. Currents. Jelly fish. Poisonous fish. Then there was always the torture option.

"Fang?" Iggy growled, hitting something. "What happened?"

"She's missing." Fang found himself saying, surprised at how even his voice was. "Twenty-four hours. Dr. M is calling Nudge."

Iggy swore vocally and kicked at the wall. She said something in a cool and logical voice about preparing a bag incase they had to leave and staying alert but not overreacting or something. And then the phone rang. Fang ignored all rules he had lived by since coming to this house and answered the phone.

"Yes?"

"She's not there. Fang, let me call some-"

"Go ahead. I'm looking."

"She could be anywhere, Fang!"

He ignored this. "I'll let you know." And hung up, tossing the phone to the counterop and bolting for his backpack. It was in his room and was already partially packed with clothes and medicine, but he'd need food, too. Iggy was similarly banging about and when Fang leaped down the staircase, She was holding out granola bars. Fang paused for the first time since he had spoken to Dr. M and looked at her face. Her dark brown eyes were grimly determined, frown lines wrinkling her forehead. She was about to say something when the phone rang. Again. Fang watched as if in slow motion as she reached for it and answered, "Hufftalen residence."

Fang watched, insides screaming but outwardly calm. His hands clenched as her frown turned to a look of puzzlement, then… a smile?

"He's right here. You almost missed him."

He lunged. "Max?" Prayed it was not Dr. M or Ella.

But there was her laugh, though scratchy with bad reception, and _her _voice, and all the tension inside his body just seemed to melt away with the confirmation that she was alive and herself enough to call.

"Don't sound so surprised. What's wrong?"

He debated strangling her, still wrought with worry. So it had been Miami. Thank God. "Dr. M just called. Said you'd been gone ages."

She didn't speak for a moment, then laughed tightly. Fang could feel his chest loosening, though his blood was still hyped on adrenaline. "You didn't even think to call them, did you?"

"Well, uh, not really." Because the flock didn't rely on outside help, they relied on each other. Meaning she needed something. Still, he breathed out a sigh of relief and collapsed on the nearest chair.

"So," he said. "You're not dead. Not captured. Not at home. Where are you?"

"The gas station lady said it's called Horse Creek, Wyoming. It's in the far right corner of the state. Major redneck country, from what I've seen, though when I asked she said that there was a downtown. She seemed nice."

Wyoming. That was only a state away, albeit a big state. "And you're calling from Horse Creek why?"

"Tell her I'm going to kill her," Iggy muttered, sitting on the piano bench and looking Fang's direction.

"I heard that!" Max raised her voice and Ig chuckled. "But I'm on a pay phone. I don't know how much time I have, I just…"

Something was wrong. Fang could hear it in her voice, even if she tried to play it cool. He got to his feet and headed upstairs, out of earshot. "Spit it out."

"So, you know how I said redneck country?" Damn. No argument. She was in deep trouble. That panic feeling that had lessened with her laugh? It increased tenfold. "Uh, yeah. And it's kind of hunting season and I'm kind of a little hurt and I was wondering if you know any logical way besides walking to get back to Arizona."

It took about two milliseconds for Fang to put this together. He swore under his breath, leaping back down the stairs and snatching up Her offerings, zipping the food into his backpack.

"You went flying in hunting season? And no doubt right over an open lake, too? Are you a complete and total _idiot_?"

"Nice to hear from you, too." She said dryly. "Now if you have some info I'm not currently aware of, that'd be great."

"It's not that," Fang muttered, "but this is exactly what I was talking about. Not that it matters now. How big is the town?"

"Dunno. I'm sorta on the edge, near the park."

"Do you have food? Water? Warmth-"

"Fang, calm down! I'm _fine_. Aside from the piñata point. What are you suggesting?"

With one hand he yanked his sneakers on, holding the phone to his ear with a shoulder, and the other he used to sling his backpack over his shoulders. "I'm coming." He said simply.

"What?" I'm in _Wyoming_, Fang. And what do you propose to do once you get here? You can't fly me anywhere. And you say that I'm an idiot, geez…"

"Won't take too long. Need anything?"

There was a pause. He heard an automated voice say _One minute remaining. Insert more change. _Then Max muttered something she would have killed Iggy for saying. "I need to talk to Ig." She demanded, louder. "Now."

Fang handed the phone over, unfolding his wings and grabbing Iggy's pack, trying not to eavesdrop but hearing everything anyway.

"I need you to stay with Brook." She was telling him. "I know you don't want to and don't talk over me, I don't have anymore change. If you come, Fang will never go back and we owe it to the kids to finish this, got it?"

Iggy's face was dark, jaw tight, but he managed to mutter, "fine."

"Thank you." She breathed. "I gotta go, but I miss you, 'kay? Make some more cupcakes to send to me. Those were delicious."

"So I'm the Muffin Man now?"

"Cupcake Man." Max insisted firmly. "I don't want non of that bran BS."

"Gotcha."

_Insert more coins._

"Bye!"

The line went dead.

Fang had one backpack on and the other in his hand. Iggy was trying to smile, but failing miserably. "Can't go." He muttered. "Says the Dictator. So get going already."

"Iggy-"

"Don't keep her waiting too long," he said, leading Fang out the back door and leaving the woman inside. Then he turned to Fang, lowering his voice and looking intently at the space right above Fang's eyes. "Look, bird boy. She needs you. She called _you_. Not Dr. M. Not Ella. Not me or Nudge. So when you come back you better stop moping, and hey, try to hurry. Not that I need to tell you…"

Fang swallowed, then murmured, "I'll call you when I get there. Later."

Once he was in the air, Fang looked back to see Iggy standing in solidarity as if he could actually watch Fang fly away. And Max was right in her reasoning. This place held too much… this strange farm with a dog named after a respected English gentleman who fell in love with someone below his station and horses that ran free and were not treated as pets but as friends and piano music and freedom to fly or run as far as you could. This strange house brimming with photos of young kids that grew to older kids and sometimes adults and still came back to ride through the heather. The strange woman who started it all-her dark eyes and hair, the skin that looked like his, just not as scared; the voice that rarely escalated above an "inside voice." The kitchen she easily leant to Iggy whenever he wanted. Her old CD player and bookshelves stacked with cassettes and CDs and records and sheetmusic. The way she just handed food over and let them leave for hours at a time.

This place was getting to him. This place that could have felt like home if he had never been taken. It was overwhelming, and if Iggy wasn't staying, even Bambi eyes couldn't make him return.

It was a relief to fly away, pouring on speed to find the one person who he could be with and not feel like he shouldn't be there.


	13. White Blank Page

Guys, this chapter is twenty pages. Just in case I don't update before Thursday, consider this a much-earned birthday present, Amber :)

Thank you so much for your review and comments, Katielaine, I really appreciated them!

I hope this satisfies your need for Fax at least an eensy bit, Hellewise14. I know! Damn Dylan supporters. I don't mean that. But, in case this has flown by some very oblivious people, _I support Fang and Max forever. Freaking soulmates. _And I almost typed something a little worse than _freaking _so you can be pretty sure that I am serious about this. Haha. Anyway, thanks so much! They're only gonna get together at the very end, everything will build up, if all goes according to plan, but in the meantime they have their friendship Fax. Cool beans?

_Happy birthday to you! _I'll probably update before Thursday anyway, because I am a true procrastinator, but I want to tell you that anyway. You'll get to legally cast magic in the wizarding world! Congratulations! Anyway, I'm talking to YOU, Amber/FoReVeR-TwIrLeR. I kind of use the names interchangeably-is that okay? I'll definitely check out the song, I love music, as you may have understood from my impersonation of Brook's character, who I think about a lot and is definitely one of my favorite OCs. We share a lot of the same opinions (especially about movies, in this chapter. Though we're different people-I don't believe in insert stories.) Anyway, have a great week! Thank you for always being awesome.

Hey, JealousMinds! Yeah, typical Max. Haha. Hope you like the chapter!

XXXXX

Some quickie notes: the views expressed by my characters (Brook) and JP's are not necessarily mine. Though, regarding DDL and VM (who you will read about later, they are completely true. Haha.) But anyway, if there's anything controversial I ever write about, please don't rag. I.e.: rednecks. Not that I think any of my darling reviewers would :)

By the way… if I didn't mention this, this Word doc is twenty pages. Enjoy! And sorry if there are any spelling/grammatical errors, as per usual.

XXXXX

Day 115

There truly is nothing like flying. Yeah, I was flying alone and it was midday (note: night flying is just… amazing. It's indescribable, and even better than flying in general) but I still missed my flock like the Tin Man did his heart. I had been coasting along since early that morning when I had left Ella at the end of her driveway for the bus. Where was I? Good question. Somewhere northwestish of Arizona. Wyoming, maybe? It was a beautiful day, the sun warmed my feathers and my stomach was nice and full from a chocolate granola bar and cookies. This was the farthest and longest I had flown in a long time and my wings were beginning to feel the strain, but I _loved _it. Nothing for obsessive and anxious thoughts like vigorous exercise! Jenny Craig would love me. Minus the obsession with chocolate. Dusk was falling and the sunset was colored sherbert, and despite all my thoughts and worries and heartache, it was peaceful. Pleasant.

But this is me, right? So you can guess that as I ducked lower than usual above a faraway lake, things would not go my way. This meaning there was a sharp crack, not dissimilar to the creaks of the trees blowing in the wind. I felt a sharp pain right at the base of my wings even as I rolled to the side, and though I held back a yell of pain, it was almost worse to realize that I couldn't flap.

_C'mon, Max, think! _I couldn't fly, but the piñata point wasn't in the larger section of my wing, so I could try-ouch, yep!-I could glide clumsily. Still, I was descending way too fast for my liking and I couldn't aim worth squat. I had enough time to swear quite a bit, thinking of the hunter below, and direct myself toward a more secluded waterway. There was a wider branch in the river, hopefully with no big rocks concealed beneath the surface, and I would have enough room to maneuver my wings and… land in the river.

I emerged, coughing and spluttering, and yet completely stunned by the temperature of the water. The current tugged at my body and wing, yanking on my already throbbing shoulder. I needed to get out of the water and hide from whatever it was, good or evil, that had grounded me. I thought about getting to shore and flying somewhere safer, thinking about where the wound was located, but no such luck. When I struck toward the shore and untied my windbreaker from around my waist, it was clear that I would not be flying anywhere.

Again, more swear words. Thank you, late night television. Still cursing, I maneuvered the light jacket with the arm that didn't protest with movement and pulled it over my shoulders and-

_What was that?_

Probably the nut that _shot _you, numbskull!

I wasn't going to stick around and find out. I began to trot upstream, trying to stay in the shallows so I wouldn't leave a trail. Rich red blood dripped down from my back and the wound ached throughout my entire left side, despite the numbing sensation in my feet. Someone whistled in the distance. A signal to reinforcements? I picked up the pace, hearing my heart race in anxiety. But the sound was quickly followed by an older man's voice.

"C'mon, Lucky! The bird fell this way!"

A dog barked. This situation just kept getting better and better. The dog wruffed again, and a younger girl called out to him, echoing through the woods. I could see them now, flashes in between the trees. There was an older man, surprisingly limber for his age, a young girl in hunting girl, and a dog that looked so much like Sirius that I almost called out.

"Didja get it, Pepe? Can Oma and I make duck stew for dinner? It was a duck, right?"

I didn't drop my speed, but this was slightly reassuring. I had been flying low, and if this trio was real and found me, it's not like I had anything to hide. Except the wings. Better not be found, either way. I picked up the pace.

An hour or so later, the sun had disappeared completely. I was cold, tired, hurt, hungry, and my backpack was at mom's. Fantastic. So much for my world-renowned preparation skills. The only bright was that I had long ago lost my pursuers, but I was still stuck in a situation very similar to when I had first met Ella, and I doubted I could another friendly family of people who were good and kind and didn't ask questions. I hadn't been in one of these situations for weeks; I was out of practice. In the time when I still cared about what Jeb did, he would have been furious at me for even considering asking for help.

I ordered myself to think, to figure it out for myself. I couldn't fly and I was feeling lightheaded, but I could still walk and run. This, though slightly comforting, was not exactly cause for celebration. Yeah, so I was stuck in The Middle of Nowhere, USA, and I had to walk to Arizona? Fang would have killed me for landing in this situation.

Fang.

The second I thought of this, I scoffed and shook my head. Fang couldn't very well fly from Montana to… here just to walk me back to AZ. I was hurt, alone, and hundreds of miles from anyone I trusted. But I won't deny that the thought of my right wing man made me feel better. Not that he wouldn't _totally _chew me out for this ("you forgot it was hunting season and flew that close to a lake? Are you truly as insane as you look?" etc.) but he would have some half-sarcastic-3/4 amusing-1/4 helpful remark that would me laugh, and then his dark eyes would flicker with the hint of some warmth. It might be the only heat I'd feel all night-it was dark and chilly and my wet body shivered violently-so I held that thought tight as I began to walk westward.

Day 116

The phone rang.

God, he hated that noise.

From the living room, he could hear her piano-playing stop, and there was the sound of footsteps as she crossed the study. Fang tried to shake off the sudden, almost empty feeling as the music stopped and concentrated on _The Lightning Thief_. Max would have been disappointed on his inability to concentrate on a twelve year old with a pen, but he had just started the book and it probably got better unless Max had some strange fascination with twelve-year-old boys wielding pens. Well, she _did _have a voice in her head. But finishing it would give him another reason to contact her.

"Oh, hello, Valencia. I hope all is well?"

Fang and Iggy both stopped in their tracks, concentrating fiercely on the muffled voice behind the door.

"Yeah, I think they're doing okay. From my point of view, anyway. I haven't seen them smuggle knives anywhere or sacrifice barn rats to obscure gods, but would you like to speak with them?" Pause. "Oh…" Another pause. Fang was bending the spine of the book nearly in half until she spoke again and he bolted to his feet. "I'll put Fang on."

Fang was at the door as she opened it, phone in hand. Valencia was Dr. Martinez. Max's mom. Dr. M had never called before and it didn't seem like a social call. Meaning she was concerned because something had happened, which meant…

"What happened to her? Is she okay?" Fang demanded before the phone was even to his ear. Dr. M took a deep breath, he could hear it as she paced around the room.

"Don't fly off the handle, Fang." She warned, trying to sound calm but Fang recognized the undercurrent of worry and anxiety. "Max went out flying early yesterday morning. She-"

"Hasn't come back yet." Fang finished for her, all his worst fears coming true. Iggy was pale, face grim. She was frowning. He didn't want to look at them, see what they would say.

"She evidentially is not with you, as I had hoped. Now, please listen to me, Fang. This can't be big news, and if the worst has happened, you can't go rushing into the unknown. I'm going to call Nudge's mother-no need to worry the kids-then I'll call you right back. Please, you and Iggy sit tight. I'll call back in two minutes."

Before he could even articulate a reply, the line went dead. Fang cursed under his breath. Did she have any idea what the School could do to someone in an hour, let alone twenty-four? This wasn't like when Max had disappeared helping Ella. This time, the flock was spread thin, far too thin. She was alone and no one knew where. She hadn't been seen for a day. He wasn't there to help her, to protect her. This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to do this-because bad things happened and he couldn't stop them.

He stared out the window, taking in the grassy fields. Crazy was racing Elizabeth in the view of the mountains. He had to keep calm. Max was alone, but she was certainly capable and for all he knew, she was at some ice cream parlor in Miami, having a snack before she cooled off in the ocean. Where there were sharks. Currents. Jelly fish. Poisonous fish. Then there was always the torture option.

"Fang?" Iggy growled, hitting something. "What happened?"

"She's missing." Fang found himself saying, surprised at how even his voice was. "Twenty-four hours. Dr. M is calling Nudge."

Iggy swore vocally and kicked at the wall. She said something in a cool and logical voice about preparing a bag incase they had to leave and staying alert but not overreacting or something. And then the phone rang. Fang ignored all rules he had lived by since coming to this house and answered the phone.

"Yes?"

"She's not there. Fang, let me call some-"

"Go ahead. I'm looking."

"She could be anywhere, Fang!"

He ignored this. "I'll let you know." And hung up, tossing the phone to the counterop and bolting for his backpack. It was in his room and was already partially packed with clothes and medicine, but he'd need food, too. Iggy was similarly banging about and when Fang leaped down the staircase, She was holding out granola bars. Fang paused for the first time since he had spoken to Dr. M and looked at her face. Her dark brown eyes were grimly determined, frown lines wrinkling her forehead. She was about to say something when the phone rang. Again. Fang watched as if in slow motion as she reached for it and answered, "Hufftalen residence."

Fang watched, insides screaming but outwardly calm. His hands clenched as her frown turned to a look of puzzlement, then… a smile?

"He's right here. You almost missed him."

He lunged. "Max?" Prayed it was not Dr. M or Ella.

But there was her laugh, though scratchy with bad reception, and _her _voice, and all the tension inside his body just seemed to melt away with the confirmation that she was alive and herself enough to call.

"Don't sound so surprised. What's wrong?"

He debated strangling her, still wrought with worry. So it had been Miami. Thank God. "Dr. M just called. Said you'd been gone ages."

She didn't speak for a moment, then laughed tightly. Fang could feel his chest loosening, though his blood was still hyped on adrenaline. "You didn't even think to call them, did you?"

"Well, uh, not really." Because the flock didn't rely on outside help, they relied on each other. Meaning she needed something. Still, he breathed out a sigh of relief and collapsed on the nearest chair.

"So," he said. "You're not dead. Not captured. Not at home. Where are you?"

"The gas station lady said it's called Horse Creek, Wyoming. It's in the far right corner of the state. Major redneck country, from what I've seen, though when I asked she said that there was a downtown. She seemed nice."

Wyoming. That was only a state away, albeit a big state. "And you're calling from Horse Creek why?"

"Tell her I'm going to kill her," Iggy muttered, sitting on the piano bench and looking Fang's direction.

"I heard that!" Max raised her voice and Ig chuckled. "But I'm on a pay phone. I don't know how much time I have, I just…"

Something was wrong. Fang could hear it in her voice, even if she tried to play it cool. He got to his feet and headed upstairs, out of earshot. "Spit it out."

"So, you know how I said redneck country?" Damn. No argument. She was in deep trouble. That panic feeling that had lessened with her laugh? It increased tenfold. "Uh, yeah. And it's kind of hunting season and I'm kind of a little hurt and I was wondering if you know any logical way besides walking to get back to Arizona."

It took about two milliseconds for Fang to put this together. He swore under his breath, leaping back down the stairs and snatching up Her offerings, zipping the food into his backpack.

"You went flying in hunting season? And no doubt right over an open lake, too? Are you a complete and total _idiot_?"

"Nice to hear from you, too." She said dryly. "Now if you have some info I'm not currently aware of, that'd be great."

"It's not that," Fang muttered, "but this is exactly what I was talking about. Not that it matters now. How big is the town?"

"Dunno. I'm sorta on the edge, near the park."

"Do you have food? Water? Warmth-"

"Fang, calm down! I'm _fine_. Aside from the piñata point. What are you suggesting?"

With one hand he yanked his sneakers on, holding the phone to his ear with a shoulder, and the other he used to sling his backpack over his shoulders. "I'm coming." He said simply.

"What?" I'm in _Wyoming_, Fang. And what do you propose to do once you get here? You can't fly me anywhere. And you say that I'm an idiot, geez…"

"Won't take too long. Need anything?"

There was a pause. He heard an automated voice say _One minute remaining. Insert more change. _Then Max muttered something she would have killed Iggy for saying. "I need to talk to Ig." She demanded, louder. "Now."

Fang handed the phone over, unfolding his wings and grabbing Iggy's pack, trying not to eavesdrop but hearing everything anyway.

"I need you to stay with Brook." She was telling him. "I know you don't want to and don't talk over me, I don't have anymore change. If you come, Fang will never go back and we owe it to the kids to finish this, got it?"

Iggy's face was dark, jaw tight, but he managed to mutter, "fine."

"Thank you." She breathed. "I gotta go, but I miss you, 'kay? Make some more cupcakes to send to me. Those were delicious."

"So I'm the Muffin Man now?"

"Cupcake Man." Max insisted firmly. "I don't want non of that bran BS."

"Gotcha."

_Insert more coins._

"Bye!"

The line went dead.

Fang had one backpack on and the other in his hand. Iggy was trying to smile, but failing miserably. "Can't go." He muttered. "Says the Dictator. So get going already."

"Iggy-"

"Don't keep her waiting too long," he said, leading Fang out the back door and leaving the woman inside. Then he turned to Fang, lowering his voice and looking intently at the space right above Fang's eyes. "Look, bird boy. She needs you. She called _you_. Not Dr. M. Not Ella. Not me or Nudge. So when you come back you better stop moping, and hey, try to hurry. Not that I need to tell you…"

Fang swallowed, then murmured, "I'll call you when I get there. Later."

Once he was in the air, Fang looked back to see Iggy standing in solidarity as if he could actually watch Fang fly away. And Max was right in her reasoning. This place held too much… this strange farm with a dog named after a respected English gentleman who fell in love with someone below his station and horses that ran free and were not treated as pets but as friends and piano music and freedom to fly or run as far as you could. This strange house brimming with photos of young kids that grew to older kids and sometimes adults and still came back to ride through the heather. The strange woman who started it all-her dark eyes and hair, the skin that looked like his, just not as scared; the voice that rarely escalated above an "inside voice." The kitchen she easily leant to Iggy whenever he wanted. Her old CD player and bookshelves stacked with cassettes and CDs and records and sheetmusic. The way she just handed food over and let them leave for hours at a time.

This place was getting to him. This place that could have felt like home if he had never been taken. It was overwhelming, and if Iggy wasn't staying, even Bambi eyes couldn't make him return.

It was a relief to fly away, pouring on speed to find the one person who he could be with and not feel like he shouldn't be there.

Day 117

How humiliating. I'd tried to clean up a little, not because I was usually concerned with neat, brushed hair and washing first from my face, but if Fang wasn't here already, he'd be soon and I didn't want to seem like a helpless damsel from a King Arthur story ringing up Lancelot and saying, "Yo, ride out on your steed, Mr. Shining Armor. I need rescuing!"

Yeah. No.

So once I had woken that morning in the crook of my tree, stiff and sore and tired and cranky, I headed to the river to splash my face and rub the dirt from my forearms. I'd tried to get to my back, but that wasn't happening. What was he planning on doing, anyway? "It's not like he knows how to fix bullet wounds or can fly me back to mom's," I muttered as I dried myself on a blanket I had kiped from some campers _early _that morning. I'd been cold. Really cold. I was wearing shorts and a tank top with a baggy t-shirt of Ella's over it to hide the wings, plus my windbreaker. Everything had been soaked through with glacial mountain water, and it hadn't been much to begin with. There had been no sun, so I had been forced to stumble in circles through the woods all night until I had happened upon the campers. Lucky if you were me. Not so much if you were them. But with their Patagonia sub-zero sleeping bags and thermal blankets, I was pretty sure they could spare this one.

I dipped my legs into the water after stripping my socks and shoes. The water was still icy, but it did sooth the burning little cuts and bruises that embroidered my skin. It made me want to snarl; I could hardly move my left arm and bending over hurt like the dickens. I hated being helpless.

The sun was just rising, so I patted my pocket to be sure that my piece of broken glass was still in place. A quick-or maybe not so quick-scramble up my tree and I could signal to Fang. I don't weigh much and it was easy to tell what branches could hold and which wouldn't, so I could climb pretty high before I stopped. The tree was growing on the edge of the main part of town, about fifty feet inside the forest. Hopefully I would be able to see Fang from whatever direction he came, town or woods. I wasn't as far from Brook's as my mom's house was, but Montana was a big state and he had to fly across it then to the very bottom of Wyoming, if my tourist map was correct.

Still, I was very surprised when he did come, given that I had fallen asleep on my sun-warmed branch. He had not been very pleased, shouting my name then grabbing my shoulder, but his hands fell away as I sat up and blinked wearily at his glare.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? You look like a freaking corpse from up there."

"That's probably a sign," I muttered crossly, rubbing my neck. I had been lying on my stomach. "If my hair looks that bad."

He snorted, and for a second, neither of us spoke. And then I jumped from my branch to his and hugged him tightly, just absorbing the fact that he was with me. I was unable to fly and kind of stuck in the middle of nowhere, but it's always better to be with a friend. His arms reached around my back, though it was only to make sure we didn't fall off, because it was like hugging a tree for a few moments until he softened a little and kind of hugged me back.

"Hey." He whispered.

"Hey, yourself." I said, twisting so I could sit on the branch he stood on and look up at his face, already rememorizing his features. "Record time."

He scoffed, crouching down next to me. "Hardly. Next time, want to be a little more specific?"

I kicked him. "I'll get you the exact coordinates, C3-PO."

Fang almost smiled, his lip twitching, but his eyes were dark, examining my face then looking me over like an x-ray. It felt remarkably uncomfortable.

"You've been out here all night in only that?" He demanded in that soft way of his, yanking a sweatshirt from his bag and practically shoving me into it. "And you've been wet? God, you must have been freezing."

I tried to protest, but allowed him to gently pull my arms through the black sleeves, only wincing a little as my wing jarred. The material was thick and it smelled like him. The sleeves covered my hands, and I held them to my nose, warming the chilly tip. He was frowning, trying to disguise how worried he was, but we hadn't known each other fourteen years for nothing.

"I'm fine, Fang." I said, taking his hand. "Really."

He did not reply, beginning to rub some warmth back into my cold fingers in silence. I sighed, deciding to let him mull for a little while as I pulled my knees tight to my chest. They were bruised and scratched, as per usual.

"Fang?" I addressed him quietly as he settled back onto our branch, finally folding his wings and pulling off his backpack. He handed me a granola bar. I fingered at it, starving, but waited until I could look him in the face. "Sorry."

Fang's dark eyes flickered, but he just got to his feet and muttered, "c'mon" before jumping to the ground. Though I did have a hole in my wing, I wasn't completely useless and managed to accomplish this as well. Once on the ground, he grabbed me hand and pulled me along roughly until we had reached a little nook he must have spotted from the air, with the bubbling stream and mossy rocks and the earth covered with soft pine needles.

"You still cold? Hungry?" He asked quietly. "Or do you want to start on the wing?"

"Food first." I decided, thinking he was acting oddly enough without seeing all the blood, and I _was _feeling a little lightheaded. "Fang-you look exhausted. You didn't take any breaks on the way here, did you?"

He didn't answer, handing me another granola bar before taking one for himself, giving me all the answer I needed. Half of me wanted to kill him. I actually listened to the other half.

"Sorry I worried you." I murmured again, brushing his raven hair from his eyes. "I did call, you know. Just like you said to do."

Why did I feel the need to say this? I'm not sure, entirely. Probably because he was acting so strangely. Yeah, he had been worried, but really, I'd been shot before. He didn't need to be so anxious. He nodded, but held my eyes so intently that I stopped breathing for a moment before forcing myself to turn away, trying to get my breathing under control. "You should probably look at my wing." I muttered. "I can't reach."

More degradation. He had to help pull off the sweatshirt, his, then the windbreaker. I didn't look at him so I wouldn't have to see his face. No doubt the light blue material was stained dark crimson. I reached back, tugging the bigger t-shirt off as well, so I didn't have to extend my wing any more than necessary.

"It's not as bad as it looks," I said, trying not to wince as I unfolded.

Fang dipped a rag into the stream and returned quickly, using his long fingers to brush my feathers away so gently that he sent shivers down my spine.

"Cold?" He asked, pulling the rag back. I shook my head, hoping he couldn't see my blush.

"No. Continue. Sorry. Please."

The water was still shockingly cold, but he stroked the feathers with one hand then mopped at the blood with the rag and it was an oddly comforting feeling. This is what we, the flock, did. We didn't need vets or doctors or hospitals-we took care of each other. The motion relaxed my muscles and it felt ten times better without the blood clotting my back and feathers.

"You're lucky."

"Yeah, he totally could have hit the broader part of my wing." I agreed, glad he had said something to distract me from the feeling of his hand on my wing. "That really would have sucked, trying to land. I can still glide."

Fang moved away, washing the rag in the stream before he spoke.

"A few more inches and he would have hit your back."

That hadn't really occurred to me and Fang let this brew while he unzipped his backpack, pulling out gauze and what looked like antiseptic. I cringed, but he just shot me one of his famous sardonic Fang looks. "Unless you _want _infection setting in. You're amazing, you know that?" He said, but by his tone of voice, it didn't sound much like a compliment, rather like he wanted to kill me. "You nearly get killed by some nut with a gun and all you can think of is how his dog looked like a fictional character. Beyond that, you lose so much blood a human would have fainted. You obviously haven't eaten anything and you're cold to the bone. Then you walk around all night!"

I felt his hands stroking my feathers as he wrapped the gauze around my wound, a soft motion that didn't match his rough mutter. "You should be dead, or at least passed out somewhere."

"Enough with the guilt trip!" I snapped, whirling before he had finished with the bandage. His eyes, so familiar, blazed. I could see how tense he was, from his clenched fists and jaw to the tightness around his shadowed eyes. God, he looked tired. "Look," I said, trying not to hit him. "I'm sorry. I didn't ask for this, and what'd you expect me to do? I ate a little and kept on the move, which you know was the best option, whether you admit it or not. And look at you! You didn't stop for an _instant _flying here. You're clearly exhausted and just as hungry as me! So I'm sorry you had to drag your butt out here, but can you just drop it?"

For most of my outburst, he had just look frustrated, but suddenly the dark barrier behind his eyes that hid the majority of whatever he felt from the rest of the world shifted a little and I saw the astonishment. "Max," I tried, voice gruff but no longer angry. "I'm not angry that I had to come out here."

"…Oh. Well, you sure aren't acting like it."

We stood at an impasse, glaring until he finally muttered about finishing the bandage. His barriers were back up, so I sat back on the rock, just as angry, and we didn't speak until we finished the last of the granola bars and split his water bottle, draining it. Still wordless, he handed back the (his) sweatshirt, which I tugged on gratefully.

"Iggy hate you for leaving him?" I asked.

"More like you for making him."

"And you?" I insisted brutally. "You hate me for this, too?"

Fang shot me a look that clearly stated I was toeing the line. Well, so what? He had volunteered for this. I had just called to ask for, I dunno, I bus route?

"No." He said shortly, ripping of pieces of moss and rolling them over in his hand. "Look-sorry, okay? Forget it. I've been thinking…"

"There's a scary thought." I teased, and he almost smiled.

"What if you came back to Montana with me?" He asked, and if I had been suspecting anything, it wasn't this. "Shorter distance than Dr. M's. Get better. Then I guess you can fly back to AZ."

"What?" Go to Montana? With him? Meet his mom, Brook? See Iggy? Meet Crazy? Hear the piano music he was always talking about? Was he crazy?

"Not permanently." Fang said, taking my hands and meeting my eyes. His were unreadable. "Just until you get better. You wouldn't be going back on your word to Nudge."

I thought this over, comparing positives and negatives. Technically, I was keeping my word to Nudge and the Voice, who had advised us to get a feel for normalcy. I would not have to walk to Arizona and drag Fang with me. I'd get to see my guys and hang with them for a week, and I'd get to experience the strange, mystical place that had somehow leeched through Fang's iron-tight armor. I didn't know what he thought of it, of her, but both the place and Brook Hufftalen had affected him. Plus, I wouldn't be around for Ella to nag me into going to her book club. Major bonus.

Downsides? No mom and Ella. Awful as it may sound, though, I could live with that. I had for fourteen years. But I would get to see them soon anyway. No chocolate chip cookies, but hopefully Iggy could whip up something sugary for me. Couldn't fly (#!*#?%!) but this was the same in either state. I'd have to leave in about a week, and I would miss Fang and Iggy even more.

"I can't stay forever," I reminded him carefully.

"She says that it's better to look back and remember good times then avoid them so you don't feel pain later when you miss them," Fang offered, a phrase he had clearly chewed and poked and prodded and mulled through. Was he talking to her voluntarily, or had this just come up?

"She thinks it's worth it?" I asked. He nodded.

"Do _you _think it is? Say I dropped dead right now. Assuming you've enjoyed at least some of the fourteen years we've spent together, you'd be sad, right? But would you rather forget me, not feel sad, or remember the times Iggy locked us out of the house or our secret handshake from when we were ten or that time we both got the flu and got to watch movies all day, back when the TV worked?"

Fang frowned. "You're not pushing up daisies anytime soon. Now, you coming or not?"

"Will Iggy make me a 'Get Well Soon' chocolate cake with vanilla frosting and peppermint shavings?"

"I'm sure it can be arranged."

We began to walk northwest, Fang leading. We had only gone about twenty paces when I tapped his shoulder. "Fang?"

He raised an eyebrow. I looked at the forest floor as we walked.

"I, uh, I can't promise that crap like this won't happen again, but I can promise that you'll always be the first I call, okay?"

In response, he reached behind him and took my hand, squeezing once before dropping it. Deal.

XXXXX

"So is it still raining? In Montana?" I asked as we came back to the first sight of town and the sketchy little gas station where I had inquired about my whereabouts. We were both approaching the phone booth warily, but the parking lot had been vacated and the store clerk was playing some video game on his computer. Not that we were doing anything illegally, but we had no desire to attract any unwanted attention. Fang dug about in his pocket before slipping some quarters into the pay phone, then dialed quickly.

"Hufftalen residence."

"Hey."

"Hi." Brook paused. "Would you care to talk to Iggy?"

"Yes."

Judging from the stilted exchange, they still had no idea of what to do with each other.

"Fang?" Iggy couldn't disguise his relief.

"Found her. We're both fine."

"Right. With your work initiative and medical skills? I'm surprised you even made it."

"_My _work initiative? It takes you twenty minutes to get up every morning."

"Hey, that's an exaggeration. And yes, you work til you drop, literally. Thus, even if you had any extensive medical knowledge, it'd be useless. How's the Holey One?"

"I said she's fine. We're coming back. She can't fly and it's closer than Dr. M's."

Iggy grumbled something I didn't catch and Fang didn't bother responding.

"Well, how you going to get here?" He asked for all ears. "It's still pretty far. Fly her? Drive? Walk? Train?"

"We'll think of something." Fang replied shortly. "See you-"

"Wait!" In interjected, lunging for the phone and putting in my order. Iggy laughed.

"Yes, Highest Master. I just need to get the butter and peppermint. Yo, Fangalator, what's the next _Olympian_ book called? Brook wants to get it from the store in town."

"_The Sea of Monsters_," I grinned, not even giving Fang a chance to reply. "Did you already finish _The Lightning Thief_?"

"Not yet. But we will. Brotherly bonding and all that."

"Right."

"Later, Ig."

"See you, Max. Fang. Don't run yourselves too hard-nothing exciting waiting for you here."

Fang hung up on him and led the way to a park bench. He still looked completely worn down-as much as he ever does, anyway-but I was pretty sure the whole thing was for me. I frowned. I didn't need to be babied, and it wasn't my leg with the bullet wound. Instead, I tossed my backpack onto the seat and leaned against the fence behind it.

"So, Mr. Montana," I addressed him. "How _do _you plan on getting back to the range? And I can walk-or run-perfectly fine, so don't say anything that gives me an excuse to hit you."

"Like that's ever stopped you," he teased, but then got serious. "We could steal a car. Fast. Highjack a train."

"Faster." I nodded, agreeing. "I saw a station on my way here. That way. We gonna break into a storage car?"

Already walking in the direction I pointed but allowing me to catch up, he said, "unless you want to walk to Montana."

Humans are so dependent on everything! "I _could_ walk." I sniffed, though given how sore I was, I would probably enjoy about… uh… _none _of it. But Fang surprised me and smiled.

"I know. Let's save it for when we have to."

Well, when he put it like that… "Aye, aye, cap'n."

He shot me a look and I laughed again. I had a bullet in my wing, I wasn't anywhere near where I wanted to be, I still felt dizzy and lightheaded and tired-but not cranky. Because even if we had already cheated once, I was with my best friend again. Sure, we spent the day skulking around a creepster train station and popping into a luggage compartment, stealing food and trying to get comfortable as we pushed crates to the side, clearing a place to sit for hours on a train. But you know what? Fang was sitting by my side and we were looking out the window, watching rundown gas stations turn to beautiful countryside. We talked a little and he rebandaged my wing when I fell back against the wall of luggage after hitting a bump in the track. When we crossed the border into his state, he pulled some new photos out of the backpack and began to explain. There was Glacier National Park and one of Iggy standing with his thumb up by a road sign that said "Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers: County Prison, Next Two Miles." Another of a dog that I recognized as Mr. Darcy and another off Iggy with a white horse who I assumed to be Epona. He was kind of smiling, petting her shoulder.

"Any of you?" I asked. Fang shook his head. "If you told Ig where to aim, I'm sure you could." I insisted. "You play the part of the escaped convict excellently."

"You played the part of bedraggled wet dog excellently."

"You kept that?" I nudged his shoulder, knocking him into some boxes, but he fended off my half-hearted punch easily.

"Are you kidding?" He joked. "I _framed _it."

XXXXX

Hitting the ground was bone jarring. I bit my teeth together, trying not to yell out as we jumped from the moving train, but just ended up even more sore than before. At least the heather was relatively soft, and we rolled down the hill and away from the tracks without breaking anything. Not that it didn't feel like I had, but I suppose there is a different.

I swore and grumbled a lot, making Fang smirk as he informed me that we were only about ten miles from the town Brook Hufftalen lived in. Then it was another five miles to the house. This topped on the hours long train ride, and I thought that Iggy had better finished my cake or I would eat him. That would teach him to make deadlines. Fang nodded toward the sinking sun, and by the time we hit town, it was dark. He led the way, running on a road that took a detour around the central buildings and led the way past a few more houses before turning to gravel. Fang had told me to not make any hick jokes on the way here and to not bring any preconceived notions with me because there was nothing like a redneck joke to tick off some of the people in town. Not that I would have been serious, as I tend not to generalize about any sort of groups of people thanks to the amount of times it's happened to yours featherly, but it was good to know all the same. I thought I even liked it. No Disney-villain-animated-types jumped out at me. Everything seemed quiet. Peaceful. The rainclouds had cleared, but everything still smelled fresh and damp and new. Needless to say, I could see why the boys liked it.

I knew we were in range when I heard the piano music. I paused, straining, then looked to Fang. He nodded, moonlight glinting off his dark eyes, and we crested another hill. There it was! Nestled below us, mountains looming as a shadow in the distance, that was the house! A few lights were on, framing pictures on the grass. There was Iggy, sitting on a barstool in the kitchen. Through others I could see chairs and rugs and pictures, brief glimpses of the place Fang had lived during the past four months. We were at an angle, higher than the house and even higher than the barn, built at the very base of the hill. I could smell horses, remembering the scent from Anne's. They whickered and made horse noises, but the piano music was even louder.

Fang started again, jogging down the hill and around to the front of the house. I followed him up the porch steps, creaking wooden floorboards. A porch swing rocked in the breeze. It was… overwhelming, know that this was where she lived, this mysterious woman I knew near nothing about, but had unexpectedly come into my life. For a short time, anyway. Who knows? If doctors had never taken Fang, maybe he would have had dinner on that bench swing, watching the sunset while doing his homework. Maybe he would have only ever broken his arm falling on the steps, icy in winter, rather then having people break it to torture him. Maybe he never would have thought about knocking, rather just barging in and calling, "Mom! I'm home!"

But it wasn't meant to be. I heard footsteps from inside, and Iggy flung open the door, bringing with him the smell of sugar, chocolate, and overall deliciousness. The music stopped.

"You made my cake!" I exclaimed, giving him an awkward, one-armed hug. He laughed and I looked up at his sightless grey eyes to see his relieved smile. He ruffled my hair, a very annoying habit he's taken up now that he's taller.

"'Course I did, invalid. How'd you get here so fast?"

I made a derisive noise. I'd seen fast, and let me tell you, that trip wasn't it. He and Fang did a sort of manly-shoulder-punch-thing, and then Ig ushered us inside.

"I wasn't sure when to expect you," he said, pulling us through a living room, past a door and a staircase, and we ended up in a much more expansive kitchen than my mom's. It was a sparse and clearly not as used, though Iggy seemed to be having the time of his life in the spacey cooking area. "But I figured you'd be hungry, plus I have these de-lish recipes that I've been wanting to try since forever."

"Not that he doesn't cook enough anyway," Fang muttered. "He makes me try every one."

"But they're all amazing, so no loss. 'Least I don't make you help with the dishes. Usually. Anyway, see, Max, when we're on the run, I don't really care about what we eat, but I've been learning about ingredients and the food industry. It's a freaking scary place, let me tell you. I'll never eat another Hostess snack again."

"I'll eat your share," I offered, watching him dive around the kitchen with careful precision. Containers from the fridge, something from the oven, plates and utensils from cabinets. It didn't have a little corner table like mom's did, so he shoved things at Fang and I to carry to the table.

"We always eat dinner at the dining table," Ig told me. "Unless we don't… sometimes we go watch the sunset or something. That's lamb stew in your right hand," he pointed to the vat of steaming broth I cradled carefully before setting on the wood table. It smelled heavenly. "Bruschetta. Dumplings. Samosas. Leftover mushroom pizza. Mashed potatoes. Meatloaf, which I don't advise, it's the one thing I can't get right. Too dry. That's pasta salad next to the baked mac and cheese. Potato skins over by Fang's elbow. Fruit salad. Blueberry smoothie. Apple-berry pie. Garden salad with raspberry vinaigrette. I had that for breakfast this morning, have you ever had salad for breakfast? Me neither, but it was a nice surprise. Very refreshing."

Fang caught my eye and we shared a smile, sitting down and trying to ladel things onto our plates without spilling. We let Ig talk himself out, but I was relieved when he finally sat down and quit the hummingbird act.

"So," he said. "Let you eat or interrogate you? As amazing as my cooking is…"

"Shuddup." I threatened around a mouthful of samosa, an amazing Indian food. Iggy's creations worked magic and after even a few bites I felt more alert, awake, steady on my feet. Out of habit, I reviewed escape options and concentrated on the light footsteps I heard padding our way, followed by four paws. Brook Hufftalen and Mr. Darcy. They appeared in the doorway a moment later. Part of me noticed the bristling dog, something shaggy mixed with some long legged breed and something bearlike. A mutt to the truest sense of the word. If he hadn't been growling, he would have looked adorable.

"Stand down, soldier." Brook said quietly, patting Darcy's head. The dog sat, whining softly until Brook placed her small hand back on his head, but I was still absorbing _her_. She was shorter than Fang and had more feminine features, not to mention her voice, an octave higher, but… he was in her cheekbones, the set of her mouth, the quirk of an eyebrow. She even spoke in his tone: quiet. The woman met my eyes, her short hair held back with a baseball cap, and though they were a little greener, a little lighter, her eyes just confirmed my belief that Brook and Fang could have been twins.

Or mother and son.

"Hello, Max." She addressed me with a small smile. These seemed more forthcoming than Fang's, and now that I noticed, I saw how her skin was pale with more freckles and her chin was more pointed.

"Hey." I said after swallowing. "You want to sit?"

Her smile widened. "Thanks for the offer, but I already ate. Iggy's been cooking nonstop since you called, though I now can see how much hungry Avian-Americans can really eat."

I raised a shoulder in a sort of shrug. "You haven't been working these two hard enough."

"Evidentially not. Though the stars know I still have plenty of food. My friends love to cook for me, being the lonely spinster that I am. Mr. Darcy is spoiled on leftovers." Hearing his name, the dog wagged his tail. I guess he didn't talk. "You three need anything?" She continued. "There's more medicine, wraps, bandages, etcetera, in the first aid kid in the bathroom."

"We're set, thanks, Brook." Iggy said, savoring some fruit. "I got out more pillows and a sleeping bag and she can always use one of our beds."

"Pig!" I growled, tossing an apple at his head. He caught it deftly. "I don't do chivalry."

Brook laughed aloud and met Fang's eyes. "I like her." She chuckled. Fang dipped his head almost imperceptibly, leaving me unsure of what he meant. That, and I was positive that I liked Brook Hufftalen, too. I didn't get any weird vibes from her like I had from Anne, and she seemed totally cool. Which meant what?

"_I Am Legend_'s lame," Iggy protested later that night as I picked out another movie from Brook's extensive collection. And these were only the action flicks.

"Will Smith's totally legit," I said. "Plus his name is Neville in this movie."

"Potter nerds. It's a disease. What else do we have?"

"_300. Lord of the Rings. Hidalgo. Last of the Mohicans. Dances with Wolves. Zoolander-_"

"Is not an action movie." Iggy interrupted. I shoved him.

"It's hilarious. _Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The Taking of Pelham 123. Avatar. Clash of the Titans. _What's _To Kill A Mockingbird_ about?"

"You wouldn't like it," was all Fang offered. Once I scanned the back, I agreed.

"_Dark Knight, Hotel Rwanda, Catwoman, Breakfast with Scott_-not an action movie either, it would seem-_INK, Black Beauty, National Velvet_…"

And we had entered the horse movie section.

"This is impossible!" I decided resolutely. "She has a million and two movies. How will we ever choose the best one?"

"I heard _Avatar _was really good," said Iggy, reaching out his hand for the DVD as if he could actually see it. I scoffed, but handed it to him anyway.

"It's by the same guy who did _Titanic_."

But Ig was insistent, and so he interrupted Brook to come and give us the lowdown. She said that _Avatar _was great, and she didn't even have _Titanic_, so not to worry.

"I love, love, love _The Crucible_," she admitted fondly, picking up another DVD. "But I don't know if you're too fond of Puritan New England. Promise me you'll watch it someday, and better yet, read the play. I have a copy upstairs, just in case you're interested. You don't look like it… well, _Last of the Mohicans _is another Top Ten. Daniel Day-Lewis is a magic man. He's also in _The Crucible. _Lots of slaughtering in this movie. Intense fights between French, British, and Native American alike. Passionate romance. Cross country treks. It's got it all. No? Maximum Ride, you're saying _no _to intense fights involving lots of blood and scalping, passionate romance, and runs across the country? Somebody even gets burned alive! Furthermore, you're saying no to _Daniel Day-Lewis. _I don't know if I can let you stay in my house."

I eyed the crazy woman for a moment, but she laughed and I could tell she was kidding. She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes.

"Guys, it's a joke. But if you're not going for Lewis, there's always Viggo Mortenson, who I almost love more than Lewis just for his performance in _Lord of the Rings_. He's simply brilliant in _Hidalgo_. Gunshots, epic races, more passionate romance, spellbinding cinematography, did I mention Viggo Mortenson? Who cares about Orlando Bloom next to him? Did you know they had to use six horses to play Hidalgo? I met the most famous, one time. It was quite depressing, actually. They had him locked in…"

Brook's previous almost girlish excitement at the thought of her two favorite actors dwindled as she thought about the horse, but she shook her head. Her heart no longer seemed to be in it, though.

"Sorry. You're looking for action? Give _Avatar _a try, it's amazing and has a lot of sensory details. The musical score is excellent, just as good as _LOTR_'s and _Hidalgo._ Make yourselves comfortable wherever."

Just like that, she was gone again, and I could hear the music begin in the study. I showered and put on a t-shirt of Fang's and some sweatpants belonging to Brook and we collected blankets and pillows. Ig retrieved the med kit, but during the opening commercials deemed that Fang had done a "bang up job, mostly" but suggested that I rub clean, warm water on the wound. I tried this at first, but the attempt did not go well and Fang silently took a seat beside me and began the job himself. Gentle fingers, gentle touch, gentle bathing, soft couch… I soon settled back against the pillows, burrowed in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. The movie had barely begun when my eyes drifted shut and I rested my head on Fang's shoulder for the night.


	14. Hear You Me

**First off, major apologies for my lack of update. I don't really have an excuse beyond life. But thanks, Amber, for your PM. Even if I act like an insensitive, introverted, antisocial writer, I do actually appreciate your caring about the story and I truly regret my lack of earlier update. I love all you reviewers/readers, and it really means a lot to me that you care this much about my story. **

**I'm glad you were pleased, Hellewise :) And I have more on the way. Thank you so much, and I definitely went for length in this one, too.**

**Regina Spektor, Ingrid Michaelson, Rosi Golan, and William Fitzsimmons have kind of been my life for the past two months, aries4me, haha. Glad you approve. Thanks for reading!**

**And of course, thank you Amber. I know the feeling of being kicked off the computer, and I really appreciated the PM. If I ever am taking way too long to update, feel free to kick me. Stay awesome and enjoy.**

Day 114

"Up and at 'em! Kids coming up from the barn! Let's go! Last time I suggest watching _Avatar _at eleven PM…"

The first fourteen years of my life gave me cause to jolt awake as soon as I heard Brook's urgent call. I blinked groggily, completely unwilling to move or show any signs of life. I was warm and comfortable and could not remember the last time I had felt so safe.

"Max?" Said Fang, and some pillows shifted as he moved. "Get up."

Why was his voice so close? We had both fallen asleep on the couch, that I knew, but once my eyes had adjusted to the sunlight pouring in through the windows, I could see. My head was nestled between his shoulder and the crook of his neck. His dark feathers were the source of my warmth-and extreme comfort. As soon as I realized this, I shifted away, leaning down to pick up blankets and some fallen cushions before the "kids" arrived. A window was open and I could hear them coming. I then followed Iggy up the stairs so we could deposit the bedding in a storage closet/hide from Brook's campers, who had entered the kitchen below like a herd of elephants. Surprisingly, these were the little ones, bouncing around while flaunting empty water bottles and chattering as fast as Nudge on caffeine. There were a few older girls who hung back, talking quietly. I stepped away from the stairs, sinking further into the shadows. Was this because of the harmless girls downstairs or Fang leaning on the banister, as if this was routine? I was still remarkably tiered, and hungry again, but feeling too muddled to even think about eating. As you know, that's kind of a first for me.

"You coming, Max?" Iggy asked once Brook had rounded the campers outside again. "I can make eggs. Or you can just have leftover cake."

I tried to brush it off, smiling for the boys. "Nah, think I'm gonna crash, catch a few more Zs. I'll come down later. But don't you dare eat all of my cake!"

Ig shrugged and trooped back downstairs, and if Fang had detected any hint of a lie in my voice, his impassive self didn't show it. His dark eyes, so familiar, held mine for a moment longer, and then he followed Iggy. I could already hear him clattering about in the kitchen. Sighing deeply, I took a look around. Like the first floor, the simple walls were covered with photographs and the occasional drawing. A few were in Crayola's finest and said things like "I had a great time at camp this summer, Brook! This is a picture of Eliza," but most were just signed "BH" in the corner. I followed the landscape drawings and pictures down the hall, which had four other doors besides the closet. I peeked into the first. Brook's. Queen bed, a mantelpiece covered with more pictures, horseshoes, and various trinkets. One wall had been painted in a gorgeous depiction of the sun rising over the mountains, bathing everything in a warm, golden light. Despite myself, I found myself smiling. There were also a few bookshelves, host to many volumes labeled things like _Robert Frost Complete Collection, E.E. Cummings, Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe, Shakespeare's Tragedies, That's What She Said: Contemporary Poetry and Fiction yb Native American Women _and I even spotted _The Crucible _by some old guy named Arthur Miller. Poetry and plays, I think. Liking the odd woman even more, I shut the door.

Across the hall, a bathroom. Then a room I guessed to be Iggy's, and finally Fang's. It was a little bigger than Ig's, but I knew the only reason Fang had chosen this one was for the large window. He had pulled the bed over so he could look out the window even when in bed. I imagined him laying there the other night when I had called, face angled to look out the glass panes and sprawled out among his rumpled blankets. On the floor were paperback copies of each _Harry Potter _book and a few other novels as well. His backpack was on the comforter, though there were some spare papers on the desk by the door, plus his computer. Typical.

I sank to the floor. Fang. I had to do some thinking about him.

I had called him when I was in trouble. Not my mother with her car and PhD, but him. This wasn't so surprising, but then why did I feel so safe once he had come? Splitting my flock _again _had been excruciatingly painful, but why was it with Fang who I exchanged letters, emails, wall posts, pictures, and Fang whose absence I felt most keenly when it took him longer to reply?

_He's your best friend. _I told myself. _You've known him your whole life. Of course he makes you feel safe._

Because Fang had never let me down. Back at the School, when we'd been fighting, he had always had my back. Just like now. He beat the snot out of anyone who tried to hurt us and would have died ten times over before telling the secrets-_my _secrets-he was privy to. I trusted him with my life. It had always been this way with us. We had been alone together for months before Ig came along, and part of that dependency still survived. I loved everyone in my flock, but there was something that went deeper between us.

But why all this change?

I had woken up with my head on his neck, burrowed against his lean chest. His wing was wrapped around me, and I had been enveloped in his scent and the sound of his breathing. Why had I felt so safe? _That _wasn't normal. His hands stroking my wings sent my heart racing just because his touch felt so purely good. His smiles were like sunshine on a rainy day. And none of this came from knowing each other for thirteen and a half years.

Furthermore, I had kissed him. A long time ago, by our standards, but still. And he had kissed me. Multiple times. I had run away. Multiple times. But what if he had done so this morning, when I had felt so perfect, asleep in his arms? Had he even been awake? Had he purposely wrapped me in his feathery embrace and put his arm around my back? What if he had kissed me then?

I didn't know what I would have done.

My heartbeat picked up just thinking about it.

"Stop it!" I growled to myself, banging the back of my head against the bed frame. "No fantasizing! He didn't, so leave it at that!"

This is why I need to fly, because nothing is better for confused thoughts than flying halfway across the world as fast as you can. But I was stuck, unable to become airborne, with the bane of my existence. This is why I wasn't cut out to feel emotion, because more often than not I'm feeling frustration.

God, it was going to be a long week.

Giving up, I fell on my back against the carpet, then swore in pain. I rolled away as if burned and jumped up. _Ow, ow, ow! _Still cursing, I sat on the edge of bed, grabbing at my shoulder. The bed creaked as I jostled it, then before I could stop anything, Fang's backpack fell over. I grabbed it before it could fall off the bed and spill everything, but some knickknacks fell loose anyway. A granola bar wrapper. A lighter. Piles of paper. I meant to put them back in the bag, but I recognized that handwriting. It was _mine_. The letters were smudged and a little dirtied in some places, as if he'd waited by the mailbox and sat right where he was to read them through once, twice. Just like I did. The photos were there too; each bundled to the letter I had sent it with. He had saved them and kept them in his backpack, no less. We keep things of extreme importance in our backpacks, incase we have to make a quick getaway. Meaning they were right between the antivenom, gauze, bandaids, and extra snacks. My letters and photos were that important to him? He'd saved every one!

Oh, this was just too much to deal with. I replaced everything back into his bag and shuffled back down the hall.

I had eggs for breakfast, and Ig thought I might be feverish because I refused his offer of cake. Before he could feel my forehead, I darted away and said that we should save it for tonight. He shrugged, and I left the boys inside to head into the great beyond. Did I know where I was walking? No. Did I know the area well? No. Did that matter? You guessed it-no. And even if I couldn't fly, I could hoof it pretty far. I started off walking, but I could hear Brook and her campers in the barn and Mr. Darcy bark and it wasn't fast enough. Once I crested the hill and saw how far the hills stretched on for, fading into forests and mountains, I picked up the pace. My arm was sore, but if I could run forever, maybe I could outrun my thoughts.

Day 116

Whose idea had it been to play hide-and-seek until Brook had returned with Iggy's groceries? Me. Was I any good at this game? Not when the seeker was a flock member. Iggy was it and I couldn't turn invisible like a certain someone. Though, given his state of blindness, I suppose this didn't matter. He just had to locate me through heartbeat and breathing, which he was exceedingly good at.

"Ninety-five!" Iggy called from his room upstairs. The house was too small, dammit! Not enough time to hide in a kitchen cupboard, but what about, was that a bathroom? No time to guess.

I remembered as soon as I shut the door-this was Brook's study. I shut the door, turned around, and gasped. It was by far the largest room in the house, a little bigger than the dining room, but was dominated by an ancient grand piano in the corner. I'm not exactly a dusty historian who handles old artifacts, but I could tell how old and high quality it was. This is where Brook was always holed up when she wasn't down at the barn. The piano was angled in front of the window, and the ivory keys were worn with use. There was a desk stacked with sketchpads and paper and art tools, but it looked like the cushioned window seat was where she did her most of her art. I took a closer look at the walls, wondering if she had painted them the way she had painted her room. No, but I paused. _Hang on._

I had noticed the pictures hung everywhere, but had assumed until closer inspection that they were all the rest in the house-horses, campers, landscapes, et cetera. But these were all of a person, or sometimes two people. They were everywhere, some framed, and some just tacked on. The girl was obviously Brook Hufftalen in younger years, and the boy couldn't have been anyone but Fang's father.

"Hey, Iggy! I got your soymilk!"

"_Yes_! 'K, you guys win. I need to make dinner!"

That was easy, though I barely heard them. Fang's… father, the boy, he couldn't have been more than eighteen in some of these pictures. Maybe nineteen. And he was everywhere. Grinning from a park bench-_a grin just like Fang's_-his eyes glowing in a familiar way. Laughing in the rain, head up to the sky. Asleep on the couch. A pair of hands. All in black and white. All hand drawn. All masterpieces.

"Max?" Fang called, causing me to jump. I had to clear my throat a few times before I was able to speak.

"In here!"

Bare chested, laying in the sun. One of he and Brook, years younger, under an umbrella. Him stroking a guitar. Painting, his face looking concentrated and very familiar.

The door creaked open behind me, cautiously. Fang had never been in here. I turned to him, wanting to tell him to leave, not to fall into this onslaught of happy memories, but he had already stepped inside, and I was instead able to watch my name die on his mouth. Flicking to and from pictures all over the room, his eyes widened ever so slightly, his version of completely astonished. His lips parted, breathing out any air in his lungs. I reached my hand forward, reaching in his direction and beckoning him to me. He didn't speak. The walls were literally covered with pictures of the two, and Fang took this all in silence, but I knew him better than that. I took his hand and squeezed. Hesitantly, he took a step closer to the wall, and we could see the pictures in even clearer detail.

There were a few done in another hand, though equally skilled. These were details of Brook-her smirk, her laugh, asleep on a bed with hair falling in natural curls over the pillows. I felt intrusive, staring at these intimate portraits of someone's life. There she was crying and smiling at the same time, and the artist had managed to capture both her fear and hope flawlessly. One was of a hillside with a piano at the very top, a sun-streaked horizon behind the instrument. In flowing script was written, "Don't you worry, Darling. We'll be there some day soon. Love, love, love, your Robin."

Further along, there was a letter on crumpled notebook paper. There were scribbled and faded math equations, a doodle in the corner, but the majority of the scrap was taken up with a message.

_ Darling, my Darling,_

_ remember not to worry._

_ You dry those tears and_

_ hide those fears because_

_ no matter what we face,_

_ we take them together._

_ Like the stars to the sky and _

_ the sun to the moon, we're always_

_ together _

_ and never_

_ alone. _

At the bottom, a robin fluttered across the page. Rob. A robin. Brook, Robin, and Fang. A family.

"Max? Fang? I borrowed _The Sea of Monsters _from the library. Where are you two?"

Fang had left the door ajar, and Brook's voice drifted through as she came closer. Fang and I froze. Were we not supposed to be in here? Of all things to leave unexplored, I would have left this love story alone. I could hear Brook pause outside the door, but then she cracked it open and walked in.

If I had been expecting her to be angry, I was completely surprised. The slight woman swept the baseball bap from her head and leaned back against the door, smiling to herself.

"I wondered when you would stumble in here," she murmured, sinking to the floor. "Have you seen everything?"

Incapable of speech, we shook our heads. She nodded calmly.

"There _is _a lot, I guess. I have portfolios, too. It's pathetic."

This woman had the same DNA as Fang, and that gave her an advantage in hiding what she felt, but I could see the tightness around her mouth, the flash of pain in her eyes. And suddenly the love story didn't seem so sweet. Had he left her? No, judging by the notes I would guess that it was much worse. She took a deep breath, then looked directly at Fang, a challenge in her dark eyes.

"Want the story, or me to move so you can leave?"

_Yes. I have a sob story of my own, thank you. I don't need anyone else's sorry trip. I have enough sadness. I don't think I can deal with much more._

_ Tough it out, Max. This is Fang's parents we're talking about._

I had nearly forgotten Fang's hand in mine until it stiffened, but then he gestured to the poem.

"Was his name Robin?"

She closed her eyes, smiling to herself, and whispered the name as if it were a blessing. A prayer at church. "Robin Taylor Fredrickson. Yes. Rob T to his friends. Robin to me. We attended two different schools in the same town. I first noticed him when I was twelve. His dad had just died in the war. We lived a few roads apart and I was walking my neighbor's dog when I saw him in the community playground. It was really cold and windy. He was the only one there, dressed in a black suit. It was crumpled and when I got closer I could see that he was shivering."

Fang's mom hugged her spindly legs to her chest. I met Fang's eyes, waiting for him to ask me to leave, but then he glanced away. I frowned, but then he squeezed my hand tighter. _Stay_.

"I came up to him and I could see how he was trying to pretend he hadn't been crying. I offered him my coat, which he took. The dog, a German Shepherd named Mollie, rested her head in his lap. I remember how he sniffled, then tried to brush it off. 'Always liked German Shepherds,' he said. I smiled and nodded. I was always so shy, even my mind stuttered at the thought of talking to him. That picture, yeah, to your left, that's how I drew the encounter, and the one above is how he drew it."

Fang and I looked, and Brook paused to let the art sink in. She had drawn a boy, raven hair flopped into his face and shoulders bent against the woes of the world. He had drawn a young girl's face in a ring of light, entitled 'angel' at the bottom. It could have been immensely corny, but it wasn't.

"We lived near a barn where I used to walk. It was where I learned how to ride. My instructor was a free spirit. My parents didn't like her. Each Friday in the first field we would have a karaoke band night, where kids could jam and get heard, and then she'd pick a few volunteers to put on a concert each month to raise money for the local animal shelter. The second time I met him, I was thirteen. I was heading home from my afternoon, and he was strumming on an acoustic in the field. I remember… the sound was so soft and natural, like the breeze or crickets chirping. I had to stop. When he finally looked up he sort of smiled… I don't know how to describe it, like he was happy but wasn't sure if he was happy enough to let anyone know how he felt… it sounds crazy but… anyway."

I knew exactly what kind of smile she was talking about. Fang's hand felt very warm in mind.

"He said, 'it's the shepherd girl.' And I laughed, blushing, but managed to say, 'I always liked guitars.'

'Did you?' He asked, putting the guitar aside. 'You play?' To which I just shook my head and admitted, 'piano.' He nodded, then began playing again. I lay down in the grass and stayed all day. Dad gave me hell for it, when I got back after dark, but I remember just how peaceful I felt. It became a new sanctuary for me. I'd ride, then meet him in the front field and listen to his music all day. As school started, I'd take home work to do while we rested, and if I missed him, I would take it to the park and hope he would see me there."

Fang and I found a picture showing the concentrated boy leaning over his instrument, and a close up on his face. Tears beaded up in his eyes, dripping onto his guitar.

"Sad songs made him cry," Brook said softly. "It was beautiful. Though we had this ritual, it wasn't until two months later at a charity concert, after I'd finished some Beatles and Pink Floyd did we learn each other's names. 'Hey,' he said, coming up to me. Lantern lights casted shadows on his face, and his eyes were as dark as yours. He smirked. 'You didn't tell me you played _well_.'

"I was so surprised at my own daring. 'You didn't ask.' But my response shocked him into a smile and he shifted his guitar to shake my hand.

"'Rob Fredrickson' he said, and I was a little unnerved by his formality, but I shook.

"'Brook Hufftalen. What's Rob short for?' This made him frown, he didn't like his name, but I offered to play a song with him if he told me, and it stuck…"

Over music, they had become acquaintances. Over more music, a shared love of art, and seeing each other as often as they could spare, they became friends. Over troubled times they became best friends-nearly inseparable. She would sneak into his school and leave notes in his locker, and he would grab his guitar and a cordless amp and set up outside a classroom he knew she'd be having a test or bad day in.

"He would stand up on the picnic tables and sing Eagles hits, stuff he made up, and one time, during my American Lit exam when he began 'American Pie', the principal finally had to come out. It was June and the windows were open, so we could all hear Principal Kerry ask what in the world he thought he was doing. By then, he had become a sort of class joke to everyone, and it was only the worst of my teachers who shut the curtains when he surprised us with an appearance.

"'I'm singing to my best friend,' he said. 'She has a test today that she's been stressing over for ages and she always works better with a little music.'

"Mrs. Kerry tried to be stern, but she was essentially a good person and just asked, 'Don't you have school?'

"'Teacher workshop day,' he chuckled, then launched into the chorus. He always had my back, even if it was just to sing a song or pop a letter into my mailbox. Like you, he didn't always speak much. He always said that words were power and that if I knew how to use them, no one would ever conquer me. But during the day, if he thought of anything he wanted to tell me, he'd scribble it down on whatever he had available and then put it in my mailbox for me to read when I got home. We always had something to talk about, although we didn't always talk, about our music, art, the future… My parents and his mother were both very controlling. She wanted him in the army. Mine wanted me in Harvard. We wanted to be out here. He'd say that if he could, he'd buy me a house in the west, a horse, and the most beautiful piano in existence, where I could just ride for days without having to cross a road. He loved to watch me ride almost as much as I loved to watch him play. I told him I'd let him if he'd come over and make music with me and draw like we did back in Ohio. He asked if I'd let him paint the house, and then we shook on it. Yes, it was a dream, and we were only fourteen when this was decided, but we had plans. He'd come home late to a mom who just wanted him to stay there and I'd come back to a mom who yelled at me to forget the music and a dad who asked how the hell I would draw my way into Brown. They just didn't get it.

"I had always let them coach me. I took the classes they wanted of me and tried not to bring up art or music or _especially _him at home. We got along-on a rocky ledge, but we did so-until my fifteenth year. I was a freshman and almost done with ninth grade when mom found my sketchbook… she tore it up. I've never yelled so loudly in my life. She pushed me. I pushed back. Somehow, we ended up outside, mom and dad on one side preaching grades and applications and medical school and I was on the other just trying to get them to really hear a Beethoven sonata or Mozart, to really listen and hear the same beauty in music that they saw in cells and broken bones and large paychecks.

"And then, suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder and Robin was at my side. I looked up at his face-dark with fury. He didn't say anything, just took my hand and stared my parents down. It gave me the strength to stand until they became confused. _Why had she stopped yelling? Had they won?_ But as soon as they silenced, we turned away. We walked and walked until he finally let go of the breath he was holding in and I just fell apart. I cried and cried and huddled up in a little ball, and he waited until I had finished. Then ,with eyes the exact same color as yours, Fang, he looked right at me and said, 'Words are power. Never let anyone use yours against you. They can yell and rage, but never let them get what they want-the respect of a reply, no matter how rude-unless the deserve it.'

"He kissed me on the forehead, then walked me home. The next morning, I found a note in the mailbox. It's above the piano bench over there."

It was a drawing. How Robin had had achieved such detail was beyond me, but it was a sketch of the two of them, holding each other in a hug as if their lives depended on it. Underneath read:

_Hold on tight to me, Darling,_

_ We'll spread our wings and we'll learn how to fly _

_ And we'll soar free of them of them, Darling,_

_ Finding our own sky-high dreams._

_ Then when you have no need of me Darling,_

_ Just let yourself;_

_ But I'll always be with you my Darling, _

_ So don't you look back for me, fly on your own for me,_

_ And I'll meet you at the end of our road._

"It's not quite poetry or song," Brook told us. "Though he sang it to me often, when we stayed out late."

"It's kind of sad." I noted.

"It's a lullaby." Fang said, looking back at Brook. "Right?"

She nodded. "He sand it to me every night. Being a teenage boy, I don't know if you like hearing about the more romantic parts of our relationship. Please stop me if your masculinity protests."

That's likely.

"Did he always call you Darling, or just in the songs?" He asked quietly, lips moving almost imperceptibly. He stroked his long fingers-well suited to either guitar or piano, like his parents-along the keys of the piano. "Did he give this to you? 'The most beautiful piano in the world?'"

After the first time she had cried in his shoulder, the shreds of her sketchbook pages falling from her fists, he had _always _called her Darling. Sometimes it was "Brook, darling," and she never would have tolerated another using this same name, but with Robin, it had been natural. Her other friends thought it was adorable and his friends laughed but accepted it the way they accepted this odd small girl calling Rob T by his real name. As for the piano? It was a gift for her seventeenth birthday. He had found it at an antique show, had a friend fix it up, and another help him bring it up into her room while she was at school and her parents at work. A little while later, she had a surprise for him, too. Actually, he put two and two together when she had practically flew off a horse to run to the side of the ring and puke. The instructors thought she was sick. He knew better. When she had confirmed it for him, he had been so happy. Yes, it was accidental, she said, but what better excuse to start their own lives their way?

I've heard that lots of teen moms say stuff like this, but there was something different about Brook. She had already made this life, why couldn't she have done it with her soulmate and child?

"We were so, so happy," she whispered, eyes glazed and far off. Fang seemed about ready to take flight, so tense and banking on secret thoughts and hopes that only he knew. "We had money coming in through our music and his paintings. We'd graduate… my parents were furious, of course, but I never game tem a word to use against me. All they saw was Robin and I on walks or playing or recording and I think we even managed to impress them a little. My mom even called him when it started… he cut school and drove over to the hospital and stayed all night. And then, on the way home the next day… an SUV came off the ramp too fast and hit his car. They both went into the snowbank. The SUV driver broke a few ribs, but Robin… Robin broke his neck. And then a few hours after I heard, they told me they were so sorry, but my baby had died. I… I…"

Brook was unable to go on, pulling her cap low to cover the face she tucked into her knees. Her shoulders shook. Fang's hands had hardened into fists, and whereas before he looked ready to fly, he seemed to crash. His teeth clenched. He wouldn't look at anything but his feet. I thought, of all people to die in a car crash, fate would have it that the father would be Fang's. The flush of hatred I had towards the man who had killed Robin Taylor Fredrickson, and whoever had stolen Fang and lied about it, was so sudden, so consuming, that I practically punched a hole in the wall. I knew it. I _knew _it. They couldn't have just lived. They couldn't have just been in love and been happy and had a kid together. Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic. Maybe I'm naïve. But you know, for once I just wanted something good for Fang. I wanted him to have been able to grow up with adoring, loving parents. I wanted his mom to teach him to ride and his dad to teach him to paint and write lyrics to pretty songs. And I wanted Brook to not be crying on the floor, to not be gasping for air as if she were drowning in her own sadness.

_Voice? Why again do I have to save humanity? This is all love comes to. _

_ This?_

_ Sadness. Hate. Despair. Pain. Need I go on? Look at Fang. _Look _at him._

_ True. But the love between Robin Fredrickson and Brook Hufftalen came to Fang. The men who stole him brought him to you. Are you so ready to give up on love?_

"I'm sorry," Brook croaked, wobbling to her feet and looking at the ceiling light, trying not to cry even as tears streamed down her face. "I need to go."

Which left a quaking Fang and me. Trying to contain my feelings as I'd seen him do countless times, I sat down on the bench beside him. His dark hair, so like Robin's fell into his eyes. I wanted to brush it away, but didn't dare touch him.

"You want to talk?" I whispered, taking his hand. He let me stroke his palm, but beyond that, didn't react.

"On the one hand the family that works," he muttered. "On the other, there's the one that doesn't."

"I'm sorry, Fang." I breathed, and my heart broke for him as he bolted from the room, wings already partway unfolded. The porch door slammed. Iggy's footsteps could be heard approaching from the hall.

"I take it no one's hungry." He murmured, leaning in the doorway. I only looked up when I heard him take a step inside. He was turning around, trying to get the feel for the room.

"She told him the story," I admitted, hoping I didn't sound as broken as I felt. To some people it might just be another sad story, but to Fang? This was his past, how he was supposed to have lived. And I knew Fang well enough to know that he'd pretend nothing was wrong-while he screamed on the inside.

"Was it bad?" Ig asked shortly. He knew what it was like to be disappointed.

"No," I said bitterly, remembering he wouldn't see me shake my head. "It was really good until his father was killed in a car accident the day after he was born and then his mother was told her kid had died when in actuality he became part of a living hell that was much worse. Cool stuff, huh?"

Iggy muttered something under his breath, turning away. It sounded kind of like, "shit," but I could have been mistaken. I kicked him. "What?"

"This just totally plays into his hands. Damn. Of all people, it had to be the one of us who is the _most_ screwed up. _Damn_."

"_Most _screwed up?" Fang? Of all of us? We were all pretty screwed up, just in different ways.

"Like how he gives up on even trying to sleep sometimes because he knows he won't be able to. The way he hates getting attached to anyone because our enemies will hurt them to try to get to him, or they'll leave and he'll be stuck wondering what the hell to do with himself. That's the impression that I get, anyway."

I wanted to say something like, "this to a girl with a Voice in her head," but I knew what Iggy was saying, because we're the freaking poster children for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

"Remember at the School, when it was just us three and his whitecoat… Dr. Silverman? Would take him away for hours and days?"

"Vaguely." I rolled my eyes, trying to brush off the remembrance of the terror his absence had always evoked in me.

"I don't blame him."

I didn't either. Fang was tough as nails, and whenever something did manage to hurt him, he'd hardly let it show. But our history, his whitecoat, had scarred him beyond just physical abuse, and no one walked away from that unharmed.

"C'mon," I nudged Iggy out of the room, haunted by ghosts. "What'd you make for dinner? I'm ravenous."

Iggy shot me a sardonic birdkid look as he began to locate soup bowls and spoons, then handed them to me. I began to set the table, though I doubted that either Brook or Fang would return anytime soon. The clock of the mantle read 6:45. Iggy and I wouldn't be joined. In all honesty, I did not much feel like sitting down to eat, but my old habits insisted that I act normally in the face of trauma. Plus my stomach stops for no one, and I was glad to oblige to Iggy's cooking pleasures. Beef stew was a new official favorite. After I helped Iggy clean up, I trooped upstairs, my weary mind not even recognizing the bed I fell into before falling asleep.

A door whined, jolting me awake. The night sky held the faintest trace of sunrise, though the figure in the doorway was still a dark shadow. Folding his wings in, I recognized Fang immediately and made to shift out form under the covers. Any other night, if I had been caught asleep in his bed, I would have been mortified. Tonight was different, though I expect that it's also the one night when he would have needed to the comfort of a bed. In my sleep, I had wriggled under his warm blankets, and the cool air froze my legs as I got up. Fang hurried forward, touching my knee gently.

"I didn't know you were in here," he whispered. "I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

"That's bull." I whispered back. "Have you been flying all night? It's practically winter, nimrod!"

Instead of replying, he brushed one icy hand to my cheek as if to say, you think?

"You take this side, I'll take that." He said, knocking my knees aside before I could even reply. I felt heat flush to me cheeks as he pushed me against the other side, and not even knowing why. We had slept in the same bed or bedroom a million times. What made this any different?

"We're _wayyyy_ too old for this!" I growled as he shuffled under the blankets. Fang just shifted slightly so he could look at me. My face was hot, but I refused to give him that satisfaction and flopped down on my side with a huff.

"How's Brook?" I asked his eyes, pits of darkness in his face. They closed. He exhaled heavily. "That bad?"

"I don't think she talks about it much." Fang's whisper echoed softly in my ears. I really wanted to reach out, brush his cheek, let him know I was there, but I held my arms stiffly at my sides.

"And you?"

"Fine. A little hungry."

I paused, counting my heartbeats and realizing I could hear his, too. "Fang-if you wanted to stay when our time is up, I… I wouldn't stop you. Or begrudge you. We could visit, maybe-"

"Max?"

I waited.

"Remember what I said on the beach?"

You die when we die? Let's find an island? The cookies are fine? No. I knew which beach he meant-the one I had almost crash-landed on, where he had promised that he would never leave me again. Not ever.

"But if you really like Brook, she's your family-"

"Not ever, Max."

I tried to say something else, but the words died in my mouth as I looked at his face on the other pillow, felt his body heat under the blankets on the minute twin bed, and could see the softening around his mouth that was almost a smile. And then I smiled and burrowed a little deeper under the blankets. Not ever. I could live with that.


	15. For Those Below

Hey readers! I spent a lot of time on this chapter, so though it's a little more dark and twisty than usual, I hope you like it. In general, I received a lot of positive feedback regarding Brook and Robin, which felt _awesome_ because I've been mulling that thread over for some time. Thanks to everyone for reading, and especially for reviewing!

XXXXX

I'm so glad you liked the chapter, Amber :) Yeah, I was really angry with myself for killing Robin. I temporarily thought over the idea of it all being a scam and Robin really being alive and coming back to Brook, but I'm 107.2% sure that that's not going to happen. I don't know why, but when I write about Fang and Max, I always want to make them suffer a little. I know, please don't kill me! I also love making them go through something really awesome, so I try to balance it out. Regarding Fang's whitecoat-I meant that he had been seriously, mentally scarred (again, my torturing of two of my all time favorite characters is a problem) not sexually scarred. Sorry if that came across oddly, but thank you so much for your review! Your reviews always make me so happy! Get some sleep and stay awesome, as always.

Hey, JealousMinds! I always love seeing your reviews, and that little eraser in the corner. Whenever I mention _MR _to anyone (esp. a few years ago before it gained popularity) this was always their reaction: "Wait, _erasers _try to kill them? As in, like, pink erasers?" Haha. Thanks for reading!

Hellewise14, I must admit, I have a problem with making Max and Fang suffer. I try to balance it out because I love making them happy, too, but I love writing angsty fics while listening to angsty music. Is this a problem? Hmm… just don't tell anyone for me, 'k? A REGINA SPEKTOR FAN! Ahh, I love her. And Ingrid Michaelson. And if you like RS, I suggest looking up Rachel Silvia on Youtube (particularly her song "Wars to Win.") I saw her at a little local concert the other day and she writes and sings her own songs and has a voice very similar to Regina Spektor's. I love writing about Brook-definitely a favorite OC of mine. Thank you so much for everything! I hope this was soon enough to avoid a kicking, haha.

XXXXX

Day 119

"Max, I could easily drive you back to Arizona, or even buy you a plane ticket," Brook insisted as I readied my pack. Sweatshirt? Check. Food? Check. Water bottle? Check. Roll of photos taken during the last three days? Feather from a raptor that I found while out exploring with the guys? Check, check. I had everything I needed to be on my way. My mom had called that morning to check on me (a new, foreign concept) and she and Brook had chatted amicably for a while after. It was just before noon, and Fang had offered to fly back with me, and Iggy seconded that by saying that I shouldn't strain my wing, but I shot them down. It wouldn't take me an hour, let alone all day if I employed my super speed.

Still, it was tough leaving. I knew if they had come with me to AZ I would have found some excuse for them to stay. I missed them already. I was remembering how we had stayed out later, watching the stars, and how yesterday Iggy convinced Fang to read aloud for hours. We were halfway through the third _Percy Jackson _book. Iggy had allowed us to comb the cookbooks for a recipe we wanted, then we had walked into town for the ingredients and he allowed Fang to help him cook. I licked the spoon. Later we went down to the barn so they could introduce me to the horses. Fang told me how Brook had rescued Crazy-that he had been captured and abused and deemed untamable, only useful for slaughter. Brook had found him an inch from death and befriended him. He was a smart horse-he would let no one break him, but he was happy to be friends. I admired that.

My mom's house in Arizona seemed very empty when I returned, but it had been time to go. I needed to think (or, more appropriately, avoid the subject like the plague.) About me. About the mission. About-no, I could hardly admit that I needed to do some serious thinking about a certain tall and dark someone. Since when had anything changed with us? Why did I feel so happy when he was around, so alone when he wasn't? Why did I love to hear his voice, reading to Angel, bantering with Iggy, talking to me?

_Maximum Ride, you are pathetic!_ I berated myself. It was so frustrating, I almost felt like shoving him under a bus, just to be rid of these muddled feelings. But if how I felt now was anything to go by, I'd miss him too much to actually do it. Damn emotions, the whole lot of them.

"Ella!" I yelled, jumping up from the chair I had collapsed into in my fit of frustration. "What's that sport you were playing earlier, with the stick and ball?"

"Lacrosse?" She asked, appearing in the doorway, rebraiding her hair.

"Yeah! Is it hard to learn?" Would it occupy me enough so I wouldn't have to think about him or obsess over what I should be doing-i.e., saving the world?

"…a little. Catching is hard to get a hang on, but do you want to learn? I have an extra stick."

It wasn't too hard; once I caught the hang of it my mind was free to wander. It was no fighting to the death or beating someone's stuffing into the ground, but I caught up with Ella and, had I been a normal kid, I may have even signed up to join her team. But I wasn't.

_Happy now, Voice?_

XXXXX

Fang was so thankful for the clear skies, the wide-open spaces that made Montana what it was. He had been flying for hours and hadn't seen more than twenty people. Granted, now that the sun had begun to sink, no one was out in the chilly air. No one but him, looping and soaring in the endless sky. He felt infinite, like Charlie in _The Perks of Being a Wallflower,_ which he had just started reading. Part of him wondered if She had made it back to her home yet. He expected that it was getting cold down on the ground, even he was a little chilly despite how fast and hard he had been flying up until about ten minutes ago, when he had slowed down. He had come downstairs that morning fairly early, only to find a note on the table that read: _Riding. Food in fridge. No campers today. –Brook_ and usually he would be a little suspicious, but Crazy and his bridle were gone and if his wanderlust was anything to go by, maybe this is what Brook did. She couldn't fly, but she could ride, and Montana was big. The fields below were stunning in the dying sunlight, basking in gold that wouldn't last long, he knew. But there-what was that? He looked hard far away, miles in front of him. Some bulky figure moving fluidly across the plains, not dissimilar to how the horses looked in the field. Fang gained an extra fifty feet of altitude before pouring on the speed and getting closer.

As he had suspected, it was a rider. They were moving fast, though not as fast as he had seen Her ride in quick little bursts when no one was looking. It was more like the horse was running because he could, painted legs flashing out from underneath a multicolored body all too visible without a saddle. Like he and Max did sometimes, just for fun. Back when there was time for fun.

The rider was cantering across the plains like something out of a _Lord of the Rings _movie, with Fang as the helicopter cameraman and the equestiran as Gandalf riding Shadowfax to Gondor to warn the psycho steward that his city was about to be attacked by a million and three orcs. Okay, so maybe he had watched those movies a few too many times, but still, it was cool that he could relate his life to something awesome, even if he would bet his wings that the rider below was his mother and Crazy. He and Ig basically took any chance they had to relate their lives to one of the movies or books they had recently experienced, given that even parts of _Lord of the Rings _seemed tame compared to their lives. He was feeling some serious respect toward Crazy Horse, who must have been running all day. He knew what that felt like. But then, he also knew what it was like to be running or flying just for the sheer joy of it, and he could do that for forever.

Fang had never seen anyone ride without a saddle. Her rule at the barn was no riding saddleless unless you were able to canter without stirrups, and Fang didn't watch her riders that much, anyway. Still, he had to admit that it looked… fun? Like she and Crazy were not horse and rider, but just one fluid being booking it across the frosty hills. He wondered if Robin had ever watched her ride like this, or if he had ever been afraid that she would get tired of it all and just gallop away and never come back. Maybe it ran in the family.

His feathers rustled in the cold wind, something he loved. It was just so natural, the wind, and especially the cold. Scientists couldn't capture the wind. Fang hesitated, but it was getting chilly, and he angled his wings downward, falling into a steep dive and banking sharply to give Crazy plenty of room. Horses were herd animals and prey animals, and as such, he had learned that they hated any surprises that made them feel as if they were under threat. From here, he could see that Brook's eyes were closed under her helmet, and that she was smiling, but even as he realized this, she seemed to sense something and blinked, glancing around before her eyes locked on him. She was startled, and Crazy must have felt this because his loose footsteps tensed, and she had to adjust and calm him before looking back to Fang. Abruptly, he was aware of how odd he must look. Humans weren't used to seeing other humans soaring through the air with falcon wings and Brook had never watched them fly before. It surprised him to find that he was afraid that she would be frightened or embarrassed of him, her freaky mutant spawn, and that that he felt oddly pleased when she smiled at him, lifting one hand from her horse's neck and waving. Somehow, she steered him towards Fang, and though Crazy looked a little freaked out, he seemed to understand that Brook was calm and almost happy and he relaxed into his easy canter. It looked like fun.

"Evening!" She called out, and even her voice seemed euphoric, like Max's did when they flew just for fun. Did riding do that to a person? No wonder it took people so long to invent cars. It was almost contagious. She didn't even try to yell at him for being out so late in the cold like those nightmare moms from TV. Rather, she seemed happy that he was happy-if you could call it that-like real moms. But why was he thinking this way? She wasn't his mother. She was just a maternal figure who was partially responsible for his existence, but Fang didn't have a mother.

He shut his lips tight, raising a hand in acknowledgement. She wasn't his mother. He shouldn't act like it.

"Just to confirm-you're not out here to tell me its cold and to go back home?" She called, grin fading ever so slightly. Crazy picked up the pace, as if aware of the bitter taste behind this thought. Fang was slightly taken aback and flew a bit closer, so he didn't have to shout to be heard.

"Why would I do that?"

She seemed relieved. "I was afraid for a moment there that you would try to pull the 'man of the house' act like my parents used to and tell me to come inside, that I would get sick or some other nonsense. Call it paranoia. Some of my students have brothers who do the same, but my logical mind says you wouldn't do such things."

He shook his head, smirking despite himself as he vaulted through the air. "I can sympathize with you there."

Though he was pretending not to watch her, Fang saw her eyes close, her lips purse, but her voice was even when she asked, "Does Max try to keep you safe indoors?"

The question caught him off guard, but the response was immediate. "Max tries to keep us all safe. She's definitely told me at times that it's not safe to go flying, but she's never stopped me. More often than not, she _joins_ me." Fang couldn't help smiling with this statement.

Brook grinned up at him, stroking her mount's shoulder with one hand, the other resting easily on her knee as she cantered. "Oh? And how does that feel?"

Fang wasn't sure exactly why he was being so open with this woman. Maybe it was because of their location, or maybe because of the back-story he now knew, but it almost felt like a combination. The night air, breeze, the horse their only witness for miles and miles… it was one of the few times that he truly felt that he could speak without anyone eavesdropping in on his words, and that worked wonders. He looped over in the air.

"How did it feel when you and… Robin played your music together?"

For a moment, she was silent, and he was afraid he had gone too far. But she looked like she was reminiscing fondly, calling on pleasant memories before speaking. "Amazing. Liberating. Empowering. Like we were the king and queen, and that we had our own power that no one could steal from us. Happy. Heart pounding. Peaceful. Energizing. Exhilarating. Wonderful."

Fang had always had trouble sleeping, and as such had spent many nights at the E House pouring over the few books they owned, which included the Oxford English Dictionary. Due to this, he knew some pretty excellent vocabulary words, and yet he still felt that their language was so limiting. He could never put exactly what he felt into words, but Brook had done a pretty good job.

_Amazing. Liberating. Empowering. Like we own the universe, that nothing can stop us. Blissful. Heart pounding. Adrenaline racing through his veins, making him feel like he was on fire just by flying with her. The good kind of fire. Exhilarating how everything came alive, how the world could be seen under a new light. Just… wonderful. _"That basically covers it."

"When you are all living as a flock… do you go flying on your own often?"

He shook his head, but realized she didn't have quite the eyesight he did. "No. We have to take care of the kids, keep on the move, stay under the radar. She doesn't get to relax much, enjoy herself."

It was easier to answer her questions when he was flying and she was riding. They both had their strengths, weaknesses, pasts, and secrets, and in this position were both made aware of it. It was as if a secret promise was made, that all said was confidential. Part of Fang was raging at the part of him that was answering these questions, flying with Brook. He was trusting her with this, and she could betray them only too easily. What would their enemies do with this knowledge? But he stamped such thoughts down. It almost felt calming, talking to her.

"Neither do you."

"I don't need it. I'm not the leader."

"Do you wish you were?" She called, but then pulled back slightly on Crazy, slowing his gait and brushing his shoulder. He was fidgeting, anxious, head up and on alert. Fang tensed, but then heard the far off howl of a wolf. They weren't as common in Montana as they once were, but they were making a comeback. The eerie sound worried Crazy, and bit on Fang's own nerves, as well. The Erasers were all dead, he knew that, but it still brought on some haunting memories.

"God, no." He admitted, watching the horizon as he said this. "I mean, yeah, there are times when I get tired of Max's 'I Am Leader, Hear Me Roar' routine, but she's the best at it. She's amazing."

"And you've known her your entire life?"

"Just about. They put us together when we were four."

"And before that?"

He glanced her way, smirking so that she wouldn't see how much her question-and the memories it resurfaced-disturbed him. "Those were dark times, Harry, dark times."

Something about Brook's expression allowed Fang to realize that she had understood more than he had expected, but she didn't ask about it. He was thankful, having no desire to think about the whitecoat telling him how he was worthless, testing him beyond his very limits, the abuse, the blood… yeah, no thanks. Instead, she said:

"So how did you guys establish that she was leader? Was it a position the whitecoats put her up to?"

Fang shook his head. "She was always leader."

"Why?"

He had never told anyone this before. He still thought about it, at night when everyone else slept. "They put me with her because they thought I was failing. I was… I mean, I was a suicidal four-year old. How much more screwed up can you get?"

He scoffed at himself, again not recognizing why he was telling her this. She slowed Crazy to an easy trot so she could hear him with more ease, and he could practically feel her eyes boring into his head. For some reason, it didn't make him uncomfortable to meet them. Perhaps if she saw him, she would understand how he didn't have a choice, how without options he had been.

"I just kind of gave up, you know? Stopped eating. Stopped fighting back when they tossed me in with Erasers." They had developed quickly. All members of the flock had been fluent English speakers and capable of complicated thought and physical defense by four. "I just figured… that if this was what life was like, I didn't want any of it. Except I was-am-a multi-million dollar experiment. They couldn't have me dying on them. So they tossed me in with Max, maybe to see if having a successful avian with me would be beneficial. Don't tell her anything about… before, by the way. She has enough to worry about without being afraid every time I look at a gun or knife or rope. She kept me going, even if I knew that she wasn't infallible. I guess I figured that if I was there to make sure _she_ didn't fail, she would be there to make sure _I_ didn't fail.

"Thing is, Max was at the end of her rope as well, but she's too tough for them. Always has been. She was resisting, as best she could, and I kind of fed off of that. When I saw her falter, I tried to keep her going. I saw all the crap that she went through, heard her coughs after the gas experiments and screams during the testing, and yet she always pushed on. Always smiled at me when we came back from our tests, even if I didn't speak a word to her for months. I don't know if she knows how to give up. I mean, the only person she ever gives up on is herself. Not even me." He added the last phrase quietly.

Given their pace, Fang dropped to the ground, landing easily and allowing his wings to ruffle in the wind even as he walked alongside Crazy. He shoved his hand deeply into his pockets, seeking a little warmth. The howling wolf reminded him of Ari, of the boy he had abandoned along with his best friend simply because he was too stubborn.

"Do you mean back at the lab, or more recently?"

So she _had_ heard him. "Both." He whispered. "Why hasn't she?"

"Woah," she murmured, and at his side, Crazy halted. He swung his large head around to nudge Fang in the shoulder, then touch Brook's foot. Fang noticed that Crazy didn't have a bit; the piece of metal placed in the horse's mouth to help control the animal. The paint horse whickered softly, and then leant his head down to nibble at the brown grass. "Feel his neck," she instructed Fang. "It's warm, isn't it?"

Fang nodded wordlessly, rubbing Crazy's sweaty neck, feeling hair and heat dirt and inhaling that horse scent, something new he had discovered a strange fondness for. The horse was warm, and he bet that Brook was quite toasty riding bareback. He flicked a glance at her, but her head was turned skyward

"Don't despair," the woman murmured. "I would expect that she hasn't given up on you because you haven't on her. Max needs very few people in her life, I have gathered. And you're right at the top of the list."

He shrugged, and she laughed lightly. "You really haven't read her books, have you? You're always there. Always. She says things like, 'the flock and I were walking down Mass Ave, and I was completely stressed out, but then Fang offered me some Cracker Jack and I remembered that we would be okay. At least for a little while.' She also talks about your smile. I knew you had Robin's smile as soon as she wrote that."

Fang couldn't help it, even if he couldn't look at her. "Wrote what?"

Even without looking, he could hear the smile in her voice. "I loved the one in the first book where Nudge rushed over to hug her after she had been with the Martinez's and you two were alone with the hawks. Nudge said something like you told her you would eat rats, and she looked up and noted your flicker of a smile. Then you guys were in the subway tunnel and Gazzy asked about the third rail, and she shot you a look that, according to her said, _thank you for that lovely image _and also according to her, you almost grinned at her. He did a lot of almost grinning, too." She laughed softly, then continued. "I think my favorite was in her second book, after you had escaped from the School in Florida. She asked how you could tell her apart from the other Max, and she wrote something like, 'and he turned to me and grinned, making my world brighter. "She offered to cook breakfast."' Then she just mentions basic stuff, like when you smirk, and she says that's basically Fang Speak for extreme hysterics."

Fang's lip twitched, and he wondered if Max had called this Fang Speak for anything. He wasn't always disturbed into silence. Part of the time he just didn't laugh as loud as the others because that just wasn't him. He was a bit more introverted. And maybe a little more dark and twisty, as Iggy said, but more often than not, he just wasn't the kind of guy to go running around hugging everyone and talking about his feelings, not that this meant he didn't like hearing what Max wrote about him. This mope fest-especially a vocalized mope fest-was quite unusual.

"She must be a pretty amazing person to live with." Brook murmured, and though her words could have been bitter, they weren't. Fang nodded, wondering if Brook was even a little bit jealous, but it didn't really seem like it. He stroked Crazy a bit more, than ruffled his wings and glanced up at her face again. Again he nodded, a silent thanks that she seemed to understand because she smiled in an "anytime" sort of way.

"You heading back to the ranch?" He asked. "Or do you just ride until you drop?"

She turned back to look in the direction of her home, then again at the wild frontier ahead, and for a moment she looked so much like Max, unsure of if she wanted to stay or go, the wind blowing her hair around, that it physically hurt Fang. But then the moment was over and she smiled.

"I guess I should be heading back."

For the third time, he nodded, and alighted into the air. He could feel her eyes on his back, but after a few moments it didn't feel so awkward flying around her horse. Minutes, maybe hours passed before she spoke again.

"I'm going to do it one day, you know." She called.

"What?"

"Just ride and ride until the earth meets sky. I'm never going to turn around. I'm done with turning around. I love my home, but there comes a point when even a house you love is a ball and chain. Someday, I'm going to ride out with no mind to campers or students or bills. I'll come back when I _want _to come back. You know?"

He knew. And he also felt that Max and Brook would get along quite well, in the alternate universe where she, he, and Brook would regularly interact. Fang almost found himself wishing that this could be. He _liked _talking to Brook, even if he had never expected it, but he knew it would never be reality. They couldn't stay in places, not permanently, and they had enough danger in their lives without putting anyone else in harm's way. And definitely not people he liked.

This in mind, he pressed his lips together. Talking to Brook _had _been nice, and he found that the doctors in stupid magazines hadn't been lying when they said that if felt like a weight was lifted from your shoulders when you shared your worries. Maybe he used to belong with her, long ago, but not anymore, and it was high time he started acting like it.

Fang gritted his teeth. Now he was boiling with repressed feelings and questions and insecurities, and the only person who had ever managed to quell even some of them was hundreds of miles away in the opposite direction. Maybe when he got back to the house he would give her a call, even if he ended up feeling just as confused and strange an hour after hanging up. He was like a regular drug addict. Insane when sober. Or did everyone stay up all night, obsessing over mistakes and would've-could've-should'ves and thinking? If they did, it must be terrible to be a normal human, someone who couldn't fly it off. Lately, though, flying wasn't working as well as it had before.

He sighed. And it wouldn't. Not until this ridiculous separation was over and done with and things were how they should be.

XXXXX

A.N.

First off, apologies if Fang's POV seemed out of character. I almost just wrote "apologies if Fang's POV seemed OOC" but having only recently gotten the hang of slang FF terms, I think that was too many, haha. However, especially the part where both he and Max think about having so much on their mind that they can't sleep or do anything properly I have experienced on many an occasion –cough, cough, every night, cough, cough- and I'm trying to build a different kind of relationship between Brook and Fang, one he's slightly uncomfortable with because he's never experienced anything like it before. Tell me what you think? Thanks so much for reading!


	16. Twenty Years

Greetings, lovelies!

I hope you're all having a wonderful summer. Mine's pretty good-really freaking busy, but not big deal, I guess-and I hope you're feeling the same way. I used to be one of those kids who couldn't wait for school to start, but despite babysitting and the heat and bugs, I'm not feelin' it this year.

Anyway, thanks for sticking around despite my lousy updating abilities.

As always, JealousMinds, glad to have you with us :~) I love your reviews.

Thanks, Katielaine! I'm glad that their relationship is working out. I myself love Brook, so I'm relieved that it's not just because I write about her and that others like them as well.

Hello, Amber! Ahh, I read the part in your review about how Fang and Max just need to realize that they're meant to be and get on with it (Monty Python reference, anyone?) and AGREE COMPLETELY! I'm totally with you there. And thank you so much for your wonderful review. I love Brook myself and I'm super happy that I manage to portray how awesome I imagine her. She and Fang's convo? I'm glad it worked, I was afraid it was a little out of character, but looking back, I don't think it was. Fang is a really emotional guy, I feel like, but he's also really introverted and doesn't like expressing it.

I've gotta go, everyone, but thanks to everyone for reading/reviewing/favoriting!

I just read _Legacy _by Kayla Cluver, who was sixteen when she wrote it. I'm turning sixteen in November and my goal is to finally finish the entire first draft of my novel by then. It's an awesome book, guys, I highly recommend it.

Day 124

Magnolia's toenails clicked on the hardwood floor behind me, and not for the first time, I felt a surge of frustration at the hound. Frustrating little rat, following me around all night. No doubt she would wake mom or Ella up, and I didn't need either of them knowing just how restless I had been of late. I tossed the phone from my left hand to my right, fingering the numbers that made up the extension to Montana. I had memorized it.

_C'mon, Max, just dial it, already! He's awake and you know it._

_ Yeah, but Brook and Iggy probably aren't. Plus, even if he is awake, he could be out flying._

_ You know you want to. God knows you need the sleep._

_ It's completely irrational! I shouldn't have to talk to him to feel able to sleep._

_ Life isn't rational._

Great. And now I was schizophrenic. Excellent.

"Magnolia, beat it!" I snarled, pent up frustration paired with exhaustion turning me into a dog-eating maniac. I aimed a kick (a light one, I swear!) in her direction, but she dodged and eyed me with soulful, betrayed eyes. Thanks to repeated exposure to the notorious Bambi eyes, I was able to resist and duck outside onto the screen porch.

I dialed, then pressed _cancel_.

I was so pathetic. Huffing in frustration, I flopped down into a chair, but I didn't feel any better. I've always been one of those action-y people who revert to actually doing something rather than having to sit around and think about it, and therefore this chair was useless. And the woods at night… anyone could be hiding in them. And did they have night vision goggles? Could they see me? Did they have sniper rifles?

Paranoia, I know, but as you gain more confidence in your own fighting skills, you also recognize that there are many, _many _different ways to hurt a person, and that at age fourteen, I could hardly be master of them all. If anything, it made me more wary of who-or what-could be lurking in the woods. Or maybe it was just the horror movies, but I digress.

_C'mon, Max. This is ridiculous. Since when are you afraid of the woods? Albeit scary, Blair Witch Project-esque woods, but still._

_ Since I had to be in el woods _alone.

_What's so scary out there? You're Max, you've told the kids this a million times. According to you, you can beat anything._

_ First of all, I've also _lied _to the kids a million times, and secondly, just because I can and will beat anything doesn't mean the thought of being tortured to the edge of my sanity isn't a little nerve wracking._

_ And who's going to torture you?_

_ My enemies._

_ And where are your enemies?_

_ Everywhere. In those woods._

Was I aware that this entire mental conversation was crazy? Yes. However, given that I had long given up a hold on my mental marbles, I was okay with this. Then there was the fact that the mental voice in my head had taken on a Fang-like quality, and so I felt a little less alone. Since when had I cared about being alone? I practically did everything with five other people, therefore I treasured solitude. Why did people even need other people, anyway? Protection? I could take care of myself, and the thought that someone disagreed made my blood curl.

_Perhaps you just appreciate my stunning wit._

_ I'm sure that's it._

_ Or my suggestions. Like, if you're scared of people at your height-gain some ground._

_ Flying isn't helping much anymore._

_ The roof may be high enough._

Perhaps. Either way, I couldn't stand itching in this chair any longer, and there was nothing stopping me from sneaking back up the stairs, into the guestroom, and out onto the roof.

Being made of stone, it was cool, but not uncomfortably so. If anything, there was a grounding feeling to it and I sprawled out on my back to look at the stars up above. They looked so similar to when Fang and I had made up those stupid little stories when we were younger, staring up at the sky, and then of when he narrated some to me not so long ago, just to help me sleep.

_ "And so the new birdkid helped the first birdkid back into her spot among the stars and said, 'I think we can make it as long as we watch each other's backs, don't you?' The girl nodded, smiling at this idea of a friend in the sky. After a time, when the other stars noticed the kind companionship of the two birdkids, they recognized that there were more important things than being the only stars in the sky and reached out their arms to the birdkids. Thanks to the friendship of two people, they convinced the others that fighting to shine brightest is not the path to take, but instead to live at peace with each other."_

I dialed again. My thumb hovered over the _talk _button, then pressed down.

_Ring._

_ Ring._

"Max?"

My heart skipped a few beats. "Fang?"

"No, it's the Terminator. Who else would it be?"

"I just didn't expect you to pick up."

"I keep a phone in here at night. Just in case."

I frowned. "You're not supposed to pick up the phone, Fang. What if someone else was calling? Someone who had-"

"Since when do either of us care about 'not supposed to,' Max? Besides, this may sound creepy, but she is a single woman who lives alone. I, for one, can think of at least one reason why some guy may pick up the phone."

I snorted. Typical male response.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, but his voice was full of cheek. I could practically hear him smirking. "The reception's bad. What was that-maybe you admitting that I'm right?"

"Yeah, right. I'm on the roof, it better not be bad."

His tone was slightly more serious when he replied, half teasing but half worried. "Too dark for midnight wanderings?"

_How did he know? _"Psh. Yeah, right. How about you? You're all about midnight wanderings."

"I was planning on attempting to sleep tonight." He admitted. "But then I saw an ad pop up when I opened the blog and found this ridiculously addictive game online involving shooting balloons or whatever and then this commercial from a contributor popped up and so I've spent the last two hours watching this show called _Bones._ So I guess I'll sleep tomorrow night."

No point in asking if he was sure. I was positive he had up at least part of his story, but a very large part of me was too selfish to let him slip away that easily. I had called him; now I wanted to talk to him.

"What's _Bones_ about?"

"A forensic scientist-I was a little skeptical at first, but she's pretty cool-and this FBI cop who team up together to solve murders."

I stretched my limbs out, feeling a million pounds lighter with his voice in my ear. "And what's your favorite part?"

He made a noise in the back of his throat, a half laugh. I appreciated it; it was harder to tell what he was doing over the phone. Worse on email, though, so I would take what I could get. "They always catch the bad guy. Either that or the cannibalism episodes, which are pretty intense."

"Cannibalism?"

"Yeah. He's kind of like this reoccurring serial killer. Iggy and I made bets on who we think the cult leader is."

Despite talking about cannibalism, murders, serial killers, rapists, and all sorts of like-minded wonderful people, I felt much happier-and safer-when the sun peeked over the horizon that morning with his voice in my ear. Soon after, while I mumbled on about the secret lives I made up for my mom's co-workers, Fang drifted off, and listening to his breathing through the phone, it was almost like we were all together again.

Day 140

So, what do normal families do during winter vacation in warm places? They go on road trips, of course! At least, that's what Ella and mom liked to do, but given that we're related, I don't know if they're classified as 'normal.' I wasn't sure how they found pleasure out of driving for hours, but with Ella, mom, and I in my mother's little Prius, the windows down, and the promise of driving up the California border with stops to go snowshoeing in the Sierras, it seemed pretty fun. If I became a little claustrophobic after a while, we would jump out with Magnolia and I'd teach Ella some hand-to-hand combat moves, and we'd find a supermarket and a park and have lunch in the sun. Ella introduced me to the _Naruto_ and _Bleach_ manga series, and I poured over those on the drive when I wasn't singing along to "Child of the Wild Blue Yonder" or writing letters. Though I couldn't receive any mail while on the move, I remembered Fang's collection, and writing to him did feel natural. I could practically imagine what he'd say, though in reality he did manage to surprise me sometimes. For now, though, imagination would have to do.

Day 150

_Do you remember the ocean, Fang? Like, really remember it? I forgot how much I liked it. The salty water has a smell right up there with chocolate chip cookies and it's really pretty. We even saw some dolphins off the coast; I know Angel and Nudge would have loved them. I have some pictures for you, mostly just waterscapes as you'll see, but mom insisted I also send you a copy of this one she took. It's Ella and me standing on the cliffs over the water. She kept telling us that one in three people will get skin cancer and it wouldn't be any of us, so I've practically been bathing in sunscreen (I suppose it's is better than not bathing, which is sadly what usually happens to us, haha.) While the 'screen sunk in, Ella and I picked out likely candidates on the beach who would take our place. Then she told me that given the Chinese population, one in five people in the world are Chinese. So who in the flock? I think it's Iggy._

_ So guess what today is!_

_ (Cue Bon Jovi music)_

_ "Whoah, we're halfway there, (woah!) livin' on a prayer!"_

_ Just about, anyway. I'll spare you the rest of the song. _

_It's so strange here, warm in the valleys and by the coast, but it's getting cold up north! Even odder is not seeing snow. Remember at the E House when Jeb would tell us to shovel the roof, but we'd just end up sledding off it like penguins? I still have to get Iggy back after that snowball he shoved down my back. Don't remind him, it would put him on his guard._

_ Angel left a message on mom's cell. She wants to "acquire" a new cat. Please call her for me and tell her "NO WAY IN HELL!" in that subtle way you have._

_ Later,_

_ -Max_

Day 155

The paper was crisp with dried saltwater and the ink was smudged in places with stains of sunscreen. Fang was ankle deep in snow and significantly coated with the falling flakes by the time he finished reading. It smelled of the ocean and SPF 30 and sun. There were even sand grains in the envelope.

"Yo!" Iggy yelled from the porch. "You said it'd take you five minutes, not half an hour! Move out soldier, I'm alive, too!"

"You'd have thought I would notice by now," Fang muttered, trooping back up the hill.

"I heard that!"

"If I had cared, you wouldn't have."

"Dude-stop mumbling and get on up here before I send her your casket."

"Charming. Why again do I deal with you?"

"Because you couldn't live without me!" Iggy sang.

Right. That had to be it. Ever so subtly, Fang reached down and grabbed a handful of snow before heading back in Iggy's direction.


	17. I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face

Greetings, loved ones, and welcome back. AH! I'm on a _Max Ride _high. Today was my first "down" day in a while, and so not up to actually doing anything productive, I trolled around on Tumblr and discovered the truly abysmal lack of _MR _fandom on that website. Even among all the Harry Potter and Percy Jackson and Mortal Instruments awesomeness… there's no Maximum Ride. So I've spent the last five hours making a Maximum Ride tumblr. And finishing this chapter, which I hope you like. If you're curious, it's dot com.

Anyway, onto productive things:

JealousMinds, so glad to see your review, as always! I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner. Thanks!

, your review made my… made my writing career on fanfiction. I'm truly humbled that you think so much of my writing, and feel honored that you decided to review. I'm working on concluding STWTW and planning out a sequel, and even if it's slow in the coming, it's on the way. Thank you so much!

Day 161

_Max,_

_So I can't actually send these to you as you have no permanent rez, but I'm writing anyway so your mailbox will be full when you return. Maybe the neighbors will call, worried that Dr. M was murdered or something. That's how it happens in _CSI_. _Bones _is more creative. Anyway, we had a bit of an adventure the other day, which I think you would have appreciated if present, but now I'm under the impression that you would be worried that everyone was going to end up dead, and now I bet you just want me to spit it out. Here goes:_

_ So this Tuesday Iggy and I were arguing over which _Percy Jackson _book is best. He says _Titan's Curse _and I say _Last Olympian _(though we haven't quite finished yet.) So then he bolted outside to ask her, as she is the final decision maker in these situations. She usually doesn't have people over on Tuesdays, so he ran right into the barn only to find her with this student and her older sister. They were about eleven and twenty-one. Needless to say I ducked right into the shadows but el smartass has to walk up and say, "excuse us for interrupting, we just had a question and didn't realize you were meeting with anyone. We can wait til later, if that's more convenient." Brook she said it was fine (probably expecting us to ask how the oven worked or something) and introduced Iggy as Jeff and me as Nick, her nephews. _

_The girls turned out to be Rachel and Silvia somethingorother, two students. The older one is in college and is going to the equestrian Olympic semi-finals or something. Then Iggy had to ask Brook our question and she looked dumbfounded, but the older Olympic girl, Rachel, shook her head and said, "_Battle of the Labyrinth_, by far" and the little one, Silvia, said, "_Last Olympian." _Brook just shrugged and gave the classic "I love them all" response, so the majority won and as soon as we got out of there I practically killed Iggy because two young, intelligent, attractive people such as ourselves are bound to generate talk amongst the riders and you know how I hate talk. _

_Anyway, that's the latest news here. The more important thing is that Brook bought Iggy this book called _1001 Things to Make Over a Fire_ and it teaches you to make basically anything over a campfire, even cupcakes, I'm not even kidding. We're going to test it out the next few nights, using only a saucepan and some aluminum foil (plus a few ingredients) and now I'm almost looking forward to being on the run again. Granted, you have to have ingredients to make anything, campfire or oven, so I guess we'll have to stop at a Market Basket at some point in our future travels. Capiche?_

_I'll catch you later-_

_ -Fang_

Day 165

_Fang, I'm in love._

_ With kettlecorn._

_ It's the truth, I swear it. We can probably get Total to preside over our wedding. But seriously. I don't want anything else anymore, just kettlecorn. Okay, maybe that's a lie. I'd like cake and cookies and brownies and PB and J sandwiches and toast and bacon and… I digress. But I've never had kettlecorn before and I think it's amazing. Make Iggy cook some. It's basically popcorn covered in sugar. Ella told me I don't need any more sugar, but I think she's lying and shouldn't say such things so close to ocean cliffs. _

_ Aside from my wedding announcement, I don't actually have anything to report, but I took these pictures of the coast and I thought you'd like them. I've been watching the seagulls, and it's fascinating how different their flying patterns are from birds that live inland. It's so breezy here, you know? But they've totally adapted to riding the currents. I've been practicing their wing movements and took a ton of pictures so you can take a look and glean what you can from them. I also went flying up in the mountains when Ella and mom were sleeping and… it's so beautiful out here. Reminds me of Colorado (the mountains, not the ocean.) _

_ See you,_

_ -Max_

Day 170

The sunset, warm and so, so bright despite the cold air, glared into Fang's eyes. He held up a hand, blocking out the light as he balanced on the wooden fence at the edge of the property. Something nudged him from behind, and he reached out to stroke the velvet horse nose with only a little acceleration of his heartbeat. _I'm getting better at this,_ he thought, rubbing Queen Elizabeth's whiskers in just the right way. It was one of her soft spots, Brook said. She didn't know why, but the horse loved it. The bay had been trailing him around the pasture earlier, her four steady footsteps calming despite the fear that she would spook and trample him into the fresh foot of snow. There was something about horses, maybe their scent or warm brown eyes, but Fang had developed a fondness for them. However, the Queen was getting a little frustrating.

"I know, I know," he muttered, staring back out at the mountains as he nudged Elizabeth's nose away. Her breath was warm on his gloved hands, a welcome relief. He'd been outside, either sitting on the fence or pacing around the enormous horse pasture, since midday. Elizabeth wasn't the only one who was getting a little anxious. For the millionth time he trailed Crazy Horse's hoof prints with his eyes, watching them snake off through the hills until they disappeared into the snow-laden trees.

"Still no sign?"

Fang had heard Iggy's approach, but his voice was still loud compared to the soft breathing of the horses and the wind, the only sounds Fang had been listening to for the past few hours.

"Nope."

Iggy climbed up on the fence beside him, breathing on his hands. He smelled like pumpkin and something cinnamon-y and Fang's stomach growled.

"What time is it again?"

Fang glanced at his watch, almost surprised it hadn't frozen. He reminded himself that it wasn't actually too cold, but the wind chill was a killer. "Six-forty-five."

Iggy's frown deepened, thinking what Fang already knew. If she left before dinner, she was always back by six-twenty-five at the _latest_, then she would come rushing in at six-thirty on the dot and say that they could either start or come eat in the barn while she fed the horses. As the weather cooled, the boys had often opted for the barn party. With the six furry animals and their warm breath, the hay pile seats, and Iggy's hottest dish, it was often cozier there than in the house. Fang liked it, even if it was Brook and Iggy who laughed and talked the most. There was always a lot of laughing when they did this, and Crazy would come eat his grain then lie next to Brook as he nibbled at hay. His fur had gotten so long he could've given Celeste a run for her teddy-bear money. At some point Brook would turn on lights and Iggy would fish out whatever book they were working on now and Fang, designated narrator, would start to read.

They were almost done with _The Last Olympian_, and earlier he had found himself looking forward to tonight when they would undoubtedly end up in the barn again and he would find out what finally happened to Percy and his friends. He wondered if Percy ended up kissing Annabeth. He wondered if Annabeth flew away from him. On a Pegasus, of course; Annabeth didn't have wings. Then he also wondered if the demigods ended up triumphing over evil. It was unfortunate how similar both the whole end-of-the-world problems and girl problems in _Percy Jackson _were relevant to his life. Fang felt like you should be able to choose one or the other.

"Maybe Crazy's just tired. I mean, there's a lot of snow." Iggy muttered, but the idea sounded half-hearted. Neither of them knew Crazy to tire while out trail riding, nor Brook to drive her horses to exhaustion.

Fang didn't say anything.

"Or maybe a tree fell in their path and they had to find a new one. Like, a really big tree."

Both Crazy and Brook loved to jump. Fang had seen them; trees were no problem.

"Or… dude, you're scaring me. What do you think?"

Fang glanced at Iggy, saw his tight jaw, his gloved fists curled around the wooden fence, and again at the far off woods. Of course Iggy would be waiting for his lead. It wasn't in the flock's nature to wait for someone to show up a few hours late. They either left, or went looking for the missing person, usually according to Max's orders. Max wasn't here, and that left he, Fang in charge. He felt like a jerk, stringing Ig along like this, but it wasn't like he knew what to do; this was Max's party.

One part of him knew that Brook liked to wander, just as much as her crazy horse did. That part also recognized that she hated being told what to do, where to go, and when to be back by. She followed her rules and those she felt were worth following; therefore, if she found some cool, hidden nook out in the woods, she would have no problem leaving the trail to explore. It hadn't snowed since she had left, so he knew that wherever she was, her tracks were visible. But the sun was sinking quickly, and it was already below freezing. She wouldn't be able to see after sunset, and he wondered if even Crazy could navigate home in the dark.

The more rational, prominent part of Fang knew that it was highly likely Brook _couldn't _follow her tracks home for some reason or other. This ranged from completely normal (fell and broke a rib) to the unthinkable (she had been captured by psycho scientists.) Fang had too much experience dealing with both, and watching the sun set, knew the decision fell on his shoulders. He had debated finding her for some time, but the words she had spoken to him earlier always seemed to echo through his mind:

_"I was afraid for a moment there that you would try to pull the 'man of the house' act like my parents used to and tell me to come inside, that I would get sick or some other nonsense. Call it paranoia. Some of my students have brothers who do the same."_

And then there was the comment that she was going to do it someday. Just ride and ride until the earth meets sky. Never going to turn around. But then Fang kicked himself because some excuse that would be if she ended up dead. He didn't know who he would say it to, but how could he even think, "_Yeah, sorry I didn't go looking for her even though it was unusual for her to stay out so late and the weather was bad. I just wanted to give her space and didn't want her to think I was some control-freak patriarch."_

"I think we should go look for her," he muttered, standing up on the lower fence rail. "She would have told us if she was staying out late. There's too much that could go wrong."

Iggy seemed to have been waiting for this, or at least an order besides _make more food_. He got to his feet, stumbling slightly as a harsh wind gusted across the field, but he looked determined.

"Got it, bro. We just gonna follow the tracks?"

"Unless you have a better idea." Said Fang as he awkwardly extended his fifteen-foot wings. It was hard with winter jackets; they were so thick. "Maybe you can sniff them out."

Horses did have a pretty pungent scent, but Fang realized even as he spoke that the wind was picking up and that even if Iggy had developed some extra-sensory olfactory glands, it might be useless. He tried to remember what Brook had been wearing. She wasn't stupid, and it had been cold when she left early that morning, so he was pretty sure a heavy coat, gloves, and a hat under her helmet were all in the equation. Still, it had been over ten hours, and even on the move… Fang shivered as he lifted into the air, wings already beating powerfully. He would never _not _love that feeling, no matter where he was or what he was doing.

He and Ig circled above for a long time, getting a good layout of the open plains. It was pretty clear to Fang that Brook had rode into the woods, and as far as he could see-which, not to toot his own horn, but was pretty far-had not left. He called out to Iggy, not trusting the blind boy's hearing with the howling wind. Mr. Darcy would not be happy. He hated when the wind really picked; granted, the dog was on the ground and inside, and Fang was a thousand feet up.

"Going down!" He said. "Let's head closer to the trees."

"Gotcha-" Ig began, but his voice broke off and Fang had known Iggy long enough to tell when Ig was hearing something. Still, it was a moment before he noticed what had caught Ig's attention: heavy footsteps through the snow. The wind was too loud to tell much more, but his muscles tensed as he ducked closer to the treetops. The branches were so dense, and goddamn the snow.

"Fang," Iggy yelled above the noise. "I think-c'mon!" And before he could say anything, Iggy had angled down into the trees. Fang swore under his breath, tucking his wings and diving. _Now _who wanted to lead? If he impaled himself on a tree trunk, Max would kill him. But almost as soon as the thought had formed, he recognized the paint horse tramping through the snow. Crazy tossed his head, eyes rolling, as he and Iggy plummeted to the ground. Fang could hear him snorting, and he stamped furiously with his hooves.

"Back up, Ig!" He ordered, but it was again useless. Wind or not, Iggy could hear those hoofbeats, and no way would he want to get too close. Fang recognized that the hose was nervous, but he held his hands up in a peace gesture and moved forward slowly until he recognized that Crazy wasn't going to trample him to smithereens, and then he darted to the big horse's side.

It was almost too much to handle; the cold, the horse, the woman hunched over against his neck. Barely, he could hear her murmuring. Hopefully to Crazy, unless she had gone insane herself. It seemed too easy; they had hardly been flying for ten minutes, and yet here Brook was. Completely unaware of what he was doing, Fang reached out and grabbed her hand, knotted in Crazy's icy mane. Even in the glove, he could tell it was cold as snow; it seemed to be frozen in a fist.

"Brook?" Iggy shouted, coming up next to Fang and placing a hand on the horse's bridle. It was the only piece of tack on the horse. What did she think she was doing, riding off without a saddle in the middle of winter? "Brook!"

"C'mon," Fang murmured, to whom, he wasn't sure. She seemed frozen in her hunched position, but their voices must have reached her. Her shoulders shifted, shivering violently, but she tried to push herself upwards. Only when she began to slide to the side, yelling in pain, did he realize there was something wrong with her leg. She cried out, voice hoarse, but he caught her around the waist and pushed her back up as gently as possible. The movement, at least, seemed to wake her, and she shifted into a somewhat upright position. Fang took a deep breath, relieved that her eyes were focused on him, if incredibly surprised. He realized his wings were still extended and wondered why this so shocked her, but then her blue lips whispered a name.

"Robin?"

Her hand was much, much too cold. "No," he croaked, searching in those dark eyes for a spark of the person he had come to know. "No, m-it's me. It's Fang."

Her eyes tightened and then after an endless moment, they shut tightly and she turned away. Fang felt a cold knot in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the weather and shook her hand. She wasn't right. He was-Robin was-dead. Had been for almost fifteen years.

"She's sick," Iggy told him, and it took all of Fang's control not to snap, _no, duh!_ "You support her. I'm going to lead Crazy Horse forward."

Tentatively, not sure where her leg had been injured, Fang placed one hand on her snow pants above the knee. Brook made a small noise in the back of her throat as Crazy shifted forward and she shifted forward again. He squeezed her wrist again, trying to keep her steady even as he tripped along in the snow. There was so much of it, everywhere. In Crazy's fur. In his hair. In his gloves and boots. Frozen to Brook's eyelashes as she looked back at him, and this time, he thought she recognized him. When she croaked his name, disbelieving, he nearly laughed in relief.

"Fang?"

He nodded, squeezing her hand tighter. She was just as crazy as her stupid, faithful, intelligent, amazing, horse. "What are you doing out here?" He asked, surprised at how calm his voice was despite the wind and creaking trees and freezing cold and awful nerves.

Her lips tried to smile, but they were too cold. Swearing, Fang called a halt to Iggy-not that they had gone very far or were very fast-and ripped his scarf off. Crazy was tall, but she was still hunched, and he did the best he could to wrap it around her neck. Her nose would get frostbitten. Where had her scarf gone? She was the one who had told he and Iggy about how useful they were in the windy moors. Her eyes remained open and focused throughout his fumbling attempt, and when he leaned away, she forced out the question, "Time?"

"Seven."

She nodded and even clucked her tongue. Her voice was hoarse but she murmured, "almost home, my Crazy Horse."

He whickered at the sound of her voice. Fang wouldn't have been surprised if the animal was just as relieved as he was.

"Sorry." She continued. "Late."

The words seem to cost her, and Fang wondered why someone who had told him about the sanctity of words wanted to waste them now. The snow lashed, and his nose felt frozen to his face, rather than naturally a part of it. It was hell to guide the pair the few miles that it had taken mere minutes to fly across, but Fang hunched his shoulders into the wind and somehow they did it. The horses all whinnied when Iggy slid open the enormous barn door. Crazy trudged in and again Brook tried to move. Fang stopped her in enough time to keep her from jumping off, but not soon enough to keep her from jostling the broken leg.

As Iggy shut out the wind and snow with the sturdy wooden door, Fang tore off Brook's gloves and wrapped her frozen hands in his dry pair. He couldn't understand why she had gone out into the woods for so long with nothing but the clothes on her back and a small backpack with some food and band-aids. He thought she would at least have had some respect for Crazy. Despite the thick fur, he did look a little cold. She was insane.

"Will you get the horses to shut up?" Fang snapped, their noises and banging on the stall walls getting to him. Iggy was already shoving hay through their doors, probably even more aggravated by the clamor than Fang, seeing as he relied on his hearing. Unless he hadn't been kidding about the scent thing.

"No need to be harsh," Brook croaked, trying to shift upright but making no attempt to move again. That was good; Fang hoped she wasn't going to try vaulting off the horse again. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't really sure how he was going to get her off Crazy. He didn't want to jostle the broken leg, but she really wasn't getting down by herself.

"Maybe think about that next time," he muttered darkly, pulling off his jacket and laying it across her lap. "Before you go running off."

This, if anything, shocked Brook out of her daze. Her voice was steel: "Excuse me?"

He met her fiery eyes, challenging. She had heard him.

"Don't," she said, for the first time since he had met her, sounding genuinely furious. She sounded like she could spit fire. Good thing he was used to Max talking like that just about all the time. "You dare talk to me like that. God, you sound like my father."

Fang's bare fists clenched. They ached with cold but he hardly noticed. It was the first order she had ever given him. "At least someone's acting like a parent. And to think you're supposed to be my mother."

She looked like he had slapped her. Iggy was making himself very busy in the feed room, rattling around grain buckets and horse food and trying to drown out an argument he knew he wasn't supposed to hear.

XXXXX

_Ugh, Max, it was just… remember when Gaz ate all those alcoholic chocolates (I still blame you, by the way) and threw up on everyone? It was messier than that. I mean, I was really angry, and I still don't know why, but it just kind of slipped out. I'm sure you of all people know the feeling. But anyway, when I snapped at her, it basically looked like I shoved her off the horse. Turns out she broke her shin and cracked three ribs, so you can imagine how that would have went over._

_ Do you usually feel like such a jerk after saying stuff like that? _

_ Sorry, that was blunt. I must be sick or something. But you do tend to snap at people, and is it normal to feel as awful as I do? I mean… God, this letter is so pathetic I'll probably just burn it. I'm actually only just regaining the use of my fingers, so maybe I'll toss it in the fire. Remember all the times you've complained about AZ being too hot? Well, shut up. I would kill for some sunshine right now. Or at least some hot water, but the power's out. I started a fire in the living room (in the fireplace, just for clarification) and we're all sitting there now. Iggy's pretty talented in the broken bones department and she knew that no doctor would get out here in this weather, so for starters, I got her off Crazy. We didn't say anything to each other and I couldn't even look at her, but I set her in this pile of hay. She wouldn't let us do anything else for her until Crazy's coat was free of ice and everyone was fed. By then she had warmed enough to speak, even if her voice still sounds like she inhaled smoke all day. Iggy was great. He started talking to her and managed to get her to tell us what happened._

_ So they had set off riding around eight. She told us of a little woodsman's shack out in the woods, kind of like the one back near the E-House. There's an old barn and she said that sometimes when she just needs some space she goes out there with Crazy. She didn't tell us where it is; it's basically her sanctuary, though Iggy wondered why she needed space when there's so much of it here, but I think I get it. Anyway, they arrived at the barn around midday and stayed for a few hours. She lit a fire and everything was fine until the ride back. She thought she saw something in the woods-a little critter or something-and got off Crazy to see what it was. _

_ Her luck's almost as bad as yours. Or her common sense, anyway. She had evidentially wandered into a mountain lion's hunting territory. I'm not dissing the mountain lions-I actually think they're really cool, and attacks are more uncommon than domestic dog attacks, so don't pull the "it's too dangerous!" crap on Iggy and I-but it was hungry. Crazy must have heard it in the trees or something because he came forward at the last moment, stomping and rearing and neighing, and Brook tripped in the snow. At this point she could actually see the cat, and it was definitely not pleased with the horse. Long story short, Crazy stepped on Brook while protecting her and the mountain lion ran away, but she was hurt. The snow isn't as deep in the forest so before they had been moving pretty quickly, but even after she pulled herself up, Crazy could only walk. _

_ My point? Understandable that she was late. But… everything is so explainable, Max. Bad encounter with wild animal. Horse accident. Long trail ride. Of course she was going to be late, so why was I so angry with her? I should have been relieved-which I guess I was-but… agh, this is so frustrating. I can't even write. I wish you could read this now. I wish I could talk to you now. I wish she hadn't gone off in the middle of winter for a ten-hour trail ride. I wish I hadn't acted like her father. I wish I hadn't said that thing about her being… anyway. Long story short, Iggy bandaged her up and we brought her up to the house. He served dinner and we all ate in the living room. She hardly spoke, just stared into her bowl and tried not to move her blankets. We read a chapters of _The Last Olympian_, but none of us were really into it and we stopped at the part where New York is under siege._

_ Goddamn. I'd rather be in that sewer in New York than in this room right now. Why can't you call and tell me what's wrong with me? Why am I asking questions on a piece of paper when she's in this blasted room with me? Because it's supposed to go to you, even if you don't get it for another week. But I want answers _now_. Why do we even need parents? We never did beforehand. Can't we just go back?_

Fang hastily scribbled out these past nine sentences. He peeked at Brook over the top of the notepad. She had finished her soup but was holding the bowl still, warming her hands. Her face was as closed off and apathetic as ever. He wanted to throw something. He didn't want to be here anymore, face her disappointment and anger. He wanted to fly with Max and even if he didn't say a word of what had transpired, he just wanted to see her smile and hear the laugh that took all his worries away. He wanted her ears, so adept at listening, and her sharp tongue. He wanted her hand to squeeze tight. He wanted something other than this inactivity and pretending everything was okay when it so clearly wasn't! Max and Dr. M were never like this, why were he and Brook?

_Stop moping_, he could practically hear Max chide, see her roll her eyes, more Bambi-brown than any of Nudge's pleading looks. Not that he'd ever admit something so embarrassing. _If you can't deal with it, fix it._

It sounded like advice the Voice would give her, and she would relay back to him. She would have hit him if he ever said something like that to her. But of course the Max in his mind wasn't real and there was nothing to hit and nowhere to fly when the winds were so bad.

_Moping_, the Max in his head teased.

He really was crazy. Fantastic. Iggy, who had gone to the bathroom, didn't know anything about mental disorders, so it was just up to Fang. He was talking to an imaginary Max. He was pretty sure this meant he had finally fallen off the rocker. Still, he supposed if he was insane, might as well listen to the voice in his head. Max did, and he liked his voice a lot better than Max did hers.

Fang swallowed, making sure that Iggy had gone upstairs before taking a breath, and then he stopped. What was he supposed to call her? They still hadn't addressed that. And kids thought they had it hard when they didn't know whether to call their grandparents Grandma or Grannie or Oma or some old pet name. He didn't know what to call his _mother_. He opted for the classic, "um," to catch her attention, and then "hey," to assure her that he wasn't muttering to himself. She looked up and her brows furrowed. Fang found that he was clenching his notebook very tightly, and now that she knew he wanted to say something, he couldn't do it. Ah! He hated people. _Let me be a bird,_ he thought, frustrated. _If Max allows Angel to pretend she's a fairytale princess for an hour, I can be a bird for an hour and not have to deal with stupid human emotions._

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice and the crackling fire the only noise. "About what I said."

Brook pursed her lips and surprised him. "You don't have to be."

"What?"

She almost smiled. "I felt that same feeling the first time you went flying all day and didn't tell Iggy or I. He was sure where you had gone, said it was normal, but still. Weird, isn't it?"

Wordless, Fang nodded. She had noticed? She had been so calm when he finally touched down at 6:45 exactly, having been gone since about seven the night before. She hadn't said anything horribly crushing and cruel.

"You're allowed to be angry," she continued, closing her eyes and leaning her head back on her numerous pillows. "Emotions make you human."

She hadn't intended it, he was sure, but Brook had made him smile. "Max hates emotions," he told her. Brook chuckled.

"I know. Powerful things, aren't they?"

Fang agreed, but he didn't speak. It had always amused him; volatile, passionate, opinionated Max didn't like feelings. He had been teased mercilessly by the flock time and time again for seeming like an emotionless rock, and yet he had always been thankful for his ability to feel. Emotions did make you human, and whitecoats had always made it seem like humans were the only ones who deserved respect. Fang didn't agree with this, but he knew that as long as he wasn't wholly human, there would always be people who wanted to kill his family. Because of this, he had come to appreciate feelings. Well, he could appreciate the ones he understood.

It was a moment before she murmured, "I'm sorry, too. It was reckless and dangerous. I've never stayed outside so long in the winter."

Maybe it was because of how his words still stung even his mind, but Fang could accept her excuses.

"Yeah. Maybe. But it's like flying. For you. Clears your mind."

"Let's you think," Brook nodded, her eyes flashing open as she smiled. "Exactly. I'm still pretty new at this whole thing, though, so know that I am sorry even if you're being kind enough to forgive me. I didn't mean to worry or distress you or cause whatever you felt when I was away for so long. I haven't really ever had to act like a mom before."

"I know." He muttered and picked up his pen again. He could hear Iggy coming back downstairs, then the water running in the kitchen. A few moments later, he brought in a glass and set it by Brook.

"I'm beat," he admitted. "I'm heading up. Call if you need anything, Brook."

"Will do," it must have pained her, but she nodded her thanks. "See you tomorrow, Iggy."

Fang got to his feet slowly, wondering if he was supposed to stay down here tonight. But Mr. Darcy was curled at Brook's feet and she hated when people took care of her, so he figured it would be better all around if he went upstairs, too. He took a step away from her, but then turned back on his heel. Her eyes were closed, and he almost changed his mind again, but she must have heard him or something, because she blinked and met his eyes. There was something about the color, similar to Max's but a little darker, that gave him courage.

"I've never had one before," he said simply. "Good night."


	18. In My Life

Day 173

"Angel?"

"Max!"

I cringed. One syllable filled to the brim with innocent six-year-old love, and I hadn't called for weeks.

"Hey, sweetie," I smiled; Ella said that you could hear them through the phone. "How are you?"

"Really good! Nudge's mom just made snickerdoodles and they're delicious. So cinnamony and sugary! Don't get me wrong, I love Dr. M's chocolate chip, but you should ask her to make some."

I chuckled, leaning back against the car as I watched my mom and half-sister walk down toward the sandwich shop. Mom had been kind enough to lend me her cell phone, noticing how I had started to get a little crawly, as tended to happen when I didn't talk to my guys for too long. Now they were subtly giving me a little privacy should I burst into tears, or more likely, say something that I didn't need them overhearing, as non-flock members. Have I ever mentioned how awesome they are?

"We'll get on it as soon as we get back," I assured her.

I heard her tell the Gasman to quiet down, and then she repeated, "Get back? When are you, anyway? Doesn't Ella have school?"

"Yeah, it's her winter vacation. Mom had an extended break because her clinic is being renovated, so no business, and Ella's school takes about a month off for winter break. Don't ask why. Mom just asked for a little extra time. We're on our way home now, actually, but we're still a few hours away."

"Well, that's cool. Gazzy wants to know if you got him any souvenirs."

"I found some pretty shells. You can all have your pick."

There was some more muffled muttering, and then Angel told me that she loved seashells, but Gaz thought it was lame. "He was going for, I dunno, like, gasoline, or something." I could practically hear the girl rolling her eyes. I sometimes forgot how much she had grown, and that she had a tendency to copy me. This included most of my foul language (and fowl language, haha, get it?) and habits, some of which I would rather she didn't mimic. Like being sarcastic and rude to people. If anyone were ever hit for something obnoxious we said, it should be me.

"Tell him no way Jose, for me, 'k?"

I eyed another family entering the diner. Two girls, a boy, a mom and dad. They were closely followed by an elderly man and a younger woman. Father and daughter, maybe? The bells on the door jangled behind them. Nobody looked like murderers, but then, it's hard to ID that sort of thing sometimes. I had once muttered about this one time while scoping out people at an ice cream parlor, and Ella had given me the weirdest look.

"It's self-centered to think that everyone wants to kill you," she had said, smirking.

"Perhaps," I had admitted. "But it's foolish to think that nobody wants to. What about him? He's got a weird look in his eye."

Ella had shot me a withering look. "That's the theater director at school. He volunteers at animal shelters and faints at the sight of blood."

But I digress. After speaking with Gazzy (ending our conversation with the usual warning about blowing anything up, setting any fires, lighting any fuses, etc.) I listened to Nudge chat for a while. This is often nearly a one-sided conversation, but near the end I said, "Lambie, I've been thinking."

"As usual. But continue."

I smirked. "So I've been a little worried about when we meet back together. Colorado's a long way from Philly, so I'm going to have mom arrange a flight for you three to Phoenix. I'll meet you there, then we can go meet the boys. Does that sound good?"

Ever-agreeable Nudge giggled. "Yeah, it's fine, Max, but you don't have to do that. I can fly that far fine."

"It's not you I'm worried about," I admitted, though this was a lie. I worried about all of them, but it was true that I didn't think Angel and Gazzy were quite as capable of the long haul.

Nudge laughed again, a bright and bubbly sound I missed terribly. Now that she was gone, I realized just how much Nudge laughed on a daily basis. They say you hear over ten thousand different sounds a day. Even if Nudge qualified as only one, I was pretty sure her noise stimulated ninety percent of ten thousand. I missed it.

"All right," I sighed, checking my watch and realizing just how quickly a half-hour had passed. I saw mom and Ella through the window, chatting and occasionally looking out at me. When Ella caught my eye she waved, and I waved back. "I've gotta go, but stack fists tonight, 'k? Take care of the others. Stay safe. Don't talk to strangers-"

"I know, I know, Max!" She laughed again. "I saw this movie where this guy was chained to a bathroom stall and he needed the key so he tried to get this kid to help him, but the kid just yelled, 'STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER!' and ran away. Gaz was thinking about doing that to some guy at the park the other day, for a joke, but Angel convinced him otherwise."

"Good." Thank God. I didn't ask if it was through her mind or words that Angel managed to 'convince' the Gasman. "See you."

"Love you, Max! Talk to you later! Oh, shoot. No, Trixie, my feathers are not cat toys!"

"Love you, too." I whispered, but she had already hung up.

Day 174

"Morning," Ella yawned. I collapsed beside her on the bench, snuggling into the cushions and extremely thankful for the swinging make-shift bed on the porch. It rocked, and Ella giggled.

"More like afternoon," mom chuckled over her coffee. "It's practically twelve."

"Any 'early mutant-bird-kid catches the worm' jokes," I threatened into a pillow, "and I will happily kill the pair of you."

They both laughed at that, and I heard mom pour a glass of something and prepare a plate of something else for me as I bemoaned my lack of sleep. Ugh. I hate being tired. What I hate more than weariness is not eating, which was why when we stopped at a Dunkin' Donuts three hours from the house, I got a muffin and a coffee. It was delicious but now I also hated coffee for keeping me up all night, even after we got back at midnight. And I hated the phone for ringing at eleven-forty-five. Who calls before midday? Fools, that's who. Idiots. Nincompoops. Salespeople. Jehovah's Witnesses. A lot of mom's friends.

"Oh, stop grumping," Ella giggled, poking me in the ribs. "And eat your bacon before _I_ do."

"Mph." I grumbled but wiggled into a semi-upright position anyway. Ella was holding a steaming slice of heaven right under my nose, and I snatched it away before she could make good on her promise.

"Mom? Can I have more bacon?"

Mom smiled at her over her coffee. "After you get the mail. I'll go cook up another package, now that Max is awake."

"I don't eat whole _packages_ of bacon," I defended, starting on my fifth piece. "That'd be like eating a whole pig."

"You've gone through about half of one already," Ella snickered. "Think what Angel will say when you tell her you ate Wilbur."

"Who's Wilbur?" I asked, mildly curious. Sleep and food were the two loves of my life, and at the moment, food took precedent.

"Who's Wilbur!" She scoffed. "He's a pig from E.B. White's book _Charlotte's-_"

It's stunning how everything can seem like we're a normal family, and then in an instant I'll be on my feet with my hands in fists. Mom says it's some disorder that has to do with post-traumatic stress. I call it paranoia and being on my toes. Either way, I was in kill-or-be killed mode as soon as I noticed the figure.

"Someone's coming up the driveway." I hissed at mom. "He's got a bag"

Neither mom nor Ella reacted the way they should have. And by that I mean Ella sat up taller, trying to get an eyeful of the man walking down their winding dirt driveway, and mom set her mug on the banister before turning around. Had the flock been there, we undoubtedly would have noticed the intruder sooner, and we would have already decided whether to fight or take flight. My heart was pounding as it always did when strangers came to close to my new sanctuary. I had to force myself not to run away or run out and force an explanation out of this man. We had to go about identifying him the normal way, but that just took so long! Mom shielded her eyes against the sun, already so, so bright, and then smiled. She waved, and the man waved back.

"Mom!" I snapped. "Did you not _hear_ me? He has a _bag_ that's probably full of guns and tranqs… and you're ignoring me completely. When we die, it's not my fault."

Ella sniggered.

"Morning, Albert!" She called, opening the screen door and taking a step outside. I knew she was subtly allowing me time to slip away if I wanted to and keep a distance even if I didn't. She was probably also making a point that 'Albert' wasn't for the slaughtering. "How are you and Cheryl?"

Albert was a man maybe in his fifties. His hair was graying and receding, and he had laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. He shook mom's hand then handed her a plastic Market Basket bag stuffed full of paper. He wasn't helping the environment, in any case. Mom seemed to know him relatively well, as he said that he and Cheryl (his wife, I think) were doing great, and that her greenhouse was really coming along. He in turn asked about work and life and normal-people-stuff, and she told him about the renovations going on but how she was excited at the prospect to work with more animals.

"We're teaming up with the SPCA for a free spay-and-neuter program," she told him enthusiastically. "I'm thrilled."

"I'll bet," he said, his Santa Claus eyes twinkling. "You tell me if you see any dogs that need a good home. I think we're about ready for another one."

Mom's face fell into shadow. "Poor Sarah. Cheryl's doing okay? I know how close she and that retriever were."

Albert nodded sadly, but he didn't seem the type to dwell on unhappiness because he smiled and nodded toward the bag. "That reminds me; while you were gone, Cheryl noticed the postman stopping by your mailbox just about every day. We didn't pry and I hope you don't mind, but we thought we'd collect them for you just in case."

My mother has the sweetest adult smile ever. She glanced down at the letters; almost as if they held a secret she knew about, and then back up at her neighbor. "Thank you so much, Albert. I promise they're not mafia letters. You and Cheryl won't be getting any calls."

He chuckled. "That's what I think of when I see Ella biking down the road. 'Yep, there she goes, off to her gang meetings!'" They laughed together, and Ella joined in beside me. She waved to the man from the porch and whispered:

"He's our neighbor. He and Cheryl Woodsworth are really nice. They always make me popcorn balls on Halloween and I helped pick out their old dog, Sarah. She was really sweet, but she passed away a few months ago."

Okay, so I guess he wasn't an axe murderer, but I was avidly curious about whatever was pouring into the mailbox. I doubted it was all for me, but I wondered if Fang had written at all while I was away. As soon as Albert hit the road, I practically collided into mom.

"Who're they from?" I asked, bouncing around her, sure that at least one or two would be coming from Montana. "Is that amount of mail normal? Did you order something? Ella, do you have a pen pal? They're not all bills, are they? Is there anything for-I mean, um…"

"Actually, Max," said mom as she pulled out two longer envelopes that looked distinctly like bills, then held the bag out for me. "I think the rest are for you."

I looked at her, trying to see if she was kidding, but though she looked amused, she was completely serious. I took the bag as if it were a fragile, delicate object. No way. No way in h-e-double toothpicks.

I took the first letter out. As usual, it was addressed _MR_, _Martinez Residence_ in familiar scratchy handwriting. I took another out. Peeked into the bag. Dumped it out on the lawn chair next to Ella, who was peering over my shoulder like a hawk.

"They're all to you!" She crowed, hugging me around the waist. "From a certain tall, dark, and handsome someone! I'll have to talk to Nudge…"

"Shut up!" I growled, trying to unwrap her leech arms. "And what on earth do you have to say to Nudge?"

"'Tall, dark, and handsome?'" Mom repeated. "Ella?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that. _I _don't think he's tall, dark, and handsome. Well, I do, but just from a feminine perspective, I don't have a crush on him or anything. However, I don't think it's me Mr. TDH is interested in…"

I finally managed to push her away, still cackling, and scattered the letters around. Minus one government-y looking letter that I tossed aside, they were all for me.

"Oh?" I could hear the grin in my mom's voice. "And does Max reciprocate these feelings toward Mr. TDH?"

I whirled around. "_Mom!"_ even as Ella said, "Oh, you bet!"

It was useless. I let them laugh, scooping up all the letters in a giant armful and running up to my room. I had to stop a few times and pick up one or two that fell, but eventually, I made it. I slammed the door shut then grabbed for the phone, keying in the number automatically as I flopped onto my unmade bed.

"Hello?"

"Brook?"

"Max?"

"God, you sound awful." The words were out before I realized what I said. Did I really just say that? "I mean, oh, I didn't mean it like that. Uh, sorry. Did I wake you up? You sound… croaky. Not awful. Croaky."

She was amused, completely at ease with the situation. "I was just napping. You want to talk to Fang?"

I held one of the letters up to the sun shining through my window. "How much is paper these days?"

She didn't respond for a moment. "Notebook paper, printer paper, stationary…?"

What I needed to do was get Fang some of that floral stationary. Iggy would fall over with laughter. Fang would probably try to kill me, but I considered it a worthwhile risk. "Notebook paper."

"You can get whole notebooks at the supermarket for ninety-nine cents. If I may ask… why?"

"Curious." I almost asked if she ever saw Fang writing, but I knew he wouldn't like anyone talking about what he did behind his back. Old habits die hard. "Is Fang there?"

Brook chuckled, her voice sounding crackly and raw. "Yeah, somewhere. Gimme a sec, I'll hunt him down… out of the way, Mr. Darcy… damn crutches…"

Crutches? "You're on crutches?" I blurted out, on my feet in an instant. "You don't have to get up! Wait-is Fang okay? How's Iggy? What happened? Were you attacked? Don't kill yourself-"

"Calm down," she interrupted, and her voice truly was calm. It was very similar to Fang's when he was trying to get me to relax. "It's okay. Everything's okay. I'm sorry I worried you." Her breathing was coming in little huffs, and I wasn't sure how she could move around. It sounded like even getting air was tough. "The boys are fine. I had an accident in the woods, fell off Crazy. Let me get Fang and you can question him all you want."

I was burning with the need to know more, but I could hear her walking and it sounded like the easy movement was truly difficult and I didn't want to bother her. As I waited, I rifled through the letters, trying to find the most recent. A bell clanged on the other side of the phone, and then Brook raised her voice. It wasn't very loud, fortunately we can hear well, and I would have bet my wings she had bruised her ribs or something.

"Fang!" She called. "Telephone!"

The waiting was agony, and then I heard Fang's muted voice in the background.

"Is she safe?" He was asking, deceptively calm. How had he known it was me? Either way, he hardly gave Brook a chance to reply before speaking into the phone, "Max?"

"You sent me… thirty-seven letters. Thirty-seven, Fang. That's more than there are days in a month! That's more than double my age! That's-"

"Yes, I'm doing well, thanks for asking, how about you?"

"Thirty-seven?"

"When did you get home?"

"Why'd you send me thirty-seven letters?"

He didn't respond.

"Fang?"

"Are we done?"

"You still haven't explained why you sent so many letters."

"Because I wrote thirty-seven letters," he said innocently, "and it seemed a waste to let them rot in the house."

"I hate you," but I was laughing. "You know that, right?"

"I'm wounded."

"Oh, shut up."

I could hear him grinning. Hell, it could light up rooms, why couldn't it span across a few states? "Did you call purely to insult me?" He asked.

I snickered. "I called to ask why you sent so many letters. And what you wrote about. The answers to both now seem glaringly obvious; I suppose I could just read them. But we got back this morning and we haven't talked in a while, so why not, eh?"

"Why not?" Fang seemed to whisper, but it could have just been an echo in the phone because I wasn't sure if he had really said it or not.

"Sorry I couldn't call you from the road. Cell phone bills are pretty expensive, I've heard, and mom said that I should try to concentrate on other things, but did you get my letters?"

"All…" he was really laughing now. "Thirty of them."

I flipped up off the bed. "What? That can't be right. I didn't write thirty. I wrote…"

"Yes?"

Now that I thought about it, I had written quite a bit. It had almost been a traveler's journal, writing to Fang. A letter a day was a good guess, and I remembered having to fly some nights to find a Post Office to send my daily letter. Huh.

"Well, I guess I did. But I got all your letters at once, so it seems like more."

"If you say so."

"I do-Ella, what do you want?"

My sister had peeked her head through the doorway, and the look I sent her could have stopped the rotation of the earth. Ella just grinned, and maybe I had stopped the earth, because I suddenly felt as if the apocalypse was coming.

"Mom!" Ella yelled. "She's talking to Mr. TDH!"

Thanks to superbirdkid hearing, I knew mom was puttering about in the kitchen as she called, "and you expected any different?"

I was blushing furiously, despite myself. Still, I narrowed my eyes. "Ella?"

She was wary. Good girl; I sounded like Angel convincing Erasers to drop from the sky.

"Get. Out."

I slammed the door behind me and slid down, my back keeping it shut.

"You still there?"

"Am I 'Mr. TDH?'" He asked.

I sighed, leaning my head back, closing my eyes, and wishing it wasn't so bright in my room. "Long story."

This reminded him of something, or maybe he was just diverting the subject, but I was thankful he didn't pry. Imagine explaining _that_ to Fang. "Hey, we finished _The Last Olympian._"

My weariness abruptly forgotten, I found myself grinning and wishing I had been there to hear him read aloud. "Finally! Tell me everything. I hope you don't have anything productive to do for the next few hours, because I've been waiting for this discussion for ages. First off, what'd you think of Luke? I felt terrible in the end. I was obviously glad Percy was okay, but I hated how…"

We talked _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_. We talked the flight of sea gulls and how Pegasi can fly. He told me about the snow and I told him about the ocean and the mountains and the stunning views. He mentioned a little about Brook, enough for me to know she really had been injured while riding, though she hadn't fallen off, as she had made it seem, and I told him about Ella's obsessions with Manga books and the band _Boys Like Girls_ and weird '90s pop. We made up for a month's time in which we hadn't exchanged a word, and for a few hours, I forgot what it was like to miss him.


	19. King and Lionheart

Greetings, lovelies!

First off, can I just ask if you guys have been taking awesome pills lately? Because that's what it looks like in the review counter thingie. Thought I'd let you all know, though you guys don't really need pills to be awesome, because you're already so great. I hope you like this one and because I don't want to put an AN at the end of the chapter, I thought I'd say this: Max and Fang discuss the book series _Percy Jackson and the Olympians _a bit in this chapter because… well, I hope you get it when you read it. If you think its confusing/weird/whatever, please drop me a line. I think I managed to make it work if you haven't read the book, but yeah, let me know!

How do I love thee, **Dancing On My Toes**, well, let me count the ways:

-your review was just… well, it's any author's dream. I was really touched, extremely humbled, and grinning like an idiot while I read it. Don't worry, I get how you can't always review/don't always get around to it, but I just laughed at your description about dancing around the room when you get an update. Someone out there is as crazily enthusiastic as I am, and I'm glad my story makes you so happy. That's another author's dream-to have your stories touch people like that, to take them away from reality and bring them somewhere else, and I am ever so glad I accomplished that with you. I can just tell you how happy I am that you love it so much and that the care I've been taking looking over each chapter for errors is for people like you. I want to write well, I want to touch people's minds, and take 'em on a freaking magic carpet ride to Montana and Arizona and Horse Creek, Wyoming.

Your comment about how you're glad the development of Max and Fang's relationship is taking so slow made me sigh in relief. I love all reviews I get and anyone reading my story, but I do admit I like people understanding why I do something. When people tell me, THEY SHOULD MAKE OUT ASAP, I sort of smile. I love Fax just as much as the rest of the world, but like you said, they're not the kind of people who wake up and say, "Oh, hey, my best friend is super attractive and I think I'm in love with him/her. Let's find a closet!" They're best friends, they don't want to ruin what they have, and I know I'm awkward even looking at friends I haven't seen in a long time, so personally, I would also have trouble believing you can so suddenly drop the friends thing and be comfortable with walking up to the other person and professing undying love. I'm glad what I've been trying to convey worked, and again, that it worked for you. And thank you, so, so much.

Another thing I'm happy about is that you've come to appreciate Brook. I, too, don't always like OCs. I don't like my OCs much in one of my other stories. But Brook… Brook I have a fondness for, so obviously it's a relief to me that I managed to write how I feel about her and not turn her into someone else. And no, I don't mind the rant. I love the rant. It's an extreme relief that everyone's interactions are working out-some people say fanfiction is a waste of time, but I've learned so much about story development, characters, and just writing while here.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

-Ivy

Hey, **JealousMinds**, as usual, I love seeing your familiar face and reading your wonderful reviews. I'm up for criticism and everything, but I admit that I'm really happy this fic is working out and that you love it so much. I look forward to your reviews every chapter. Thank you so much for reading, enjoying, and being here with me at… chapter nineteen.

Glad to see you again, **Katielaine.** I'm extremely flattered that you think so highly of this story. I truly can't express my gratitude, and am so happy to read your reviews each chapter. Thank you so much, and keep up the awesome.

**Mr. Fishmunk**, I am always so pleased when you review, although I'm really sorry I haven't updated STWTW in so long. I know you enjoy that one, and I'm working on it. I've been editing earlier chapters, thinking about how everything is going to pan out… but I want to let you know that both in _Letters_ and _STWTW_, I love seeing your familiar username and reading your reviews. I'm just floored and want to thank you so much for your dedication, kindness, and hope that you continue to enjoy _Letters_ and go "Awwwwww!"

XXXX

Major kudos to you all, this one's for you. Enjoy, and know that I'm virtually hugging all of you until your eyeballs pop out. Now, with that fine image in your head… I give you chapter nineteen.

XXXX

Day 181

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **_you finish yet?_

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** _I'm replying to each individually. I'm only, like, halfway through._

I didn't tell him that I _had_ read them all, and that writing back for each individual letter was just to buy me processing time. Or that I reread every single one just about every night. So much for getting enough sleep. At least Ella was back at school so I could sleep and read without being teased or getting those sidelong glances she claimed meant nothing. The truth was (not about what Ella kept hinting at, because there was absolutely _no _truth in either Fang or I having crushes on each other. No. Third graders got crushes, and Fang and I absolutely didn't and especially not on each other.) But the _real_ truth was that Fang had left me not only a lot to read, but quite a bit to think about, as well. Some were brief, and most had photos. A few gave just a few words detailing what the photos were about, but others were multiple pages. He wrote about what they had done, and mostly, what they thought about it.

Fang blogged, but this writing seemed to be a different way for him to express himself. It surprised me; I'm not saying he started composing poetry or contemplating the meaning of his life in these letters, but on occasion, he would give me insight into the parts of his mind that he took a lot of care to hide. Sometimes the letters made me smile. Sometimes they made me frown, and they often made me worry about my two guys up alone in Montana surrounded by snow and cold and ice. Very often his words had me laughing. Each one was a conundrum; a relief from the ache of their absence, and yet a sharp reminder of how far apart we were and how long it had been since I had seen Fang and Iggy. Still, one thing I knew I wouldn't miss was his scratchy handwriting, even worse when he was writing quickly or coming in from a flight. I could tell if he had been outside in some of the longer letters because his handwriting was worse, his fingers numb with cold, but they thawed and became more legible as he wrote.

Day 182

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** how's the cookie supply? Iggy wants to know if he should send a care package.

Day 183

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **I make sure the jars are always full (well, theoretically; I usually eat most before they get to the jar) but don't tell him that. Iggy Care Packages are always appreciated.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **haha. True that. I'll have him send his gingerbread.

Day 184

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang**: excellent. Fang? I have a problem.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **if it's urgent, you would have called, right? Or at least chatted, but now you're offline. And they say James Patterson is the master of suspense. Spit it out.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang**: oh, sorry. I didn't mean it that way. My problem might be even greater than the fate of the world or being kidnapped though. I think I'm going through _Percy Jackson_ withdrawal. I think I want to be a demi-god.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** next time just spit it out. Well, find your mom's sharpest knife and a Yankees cap and you can pretend to be Annabeth.

Day 186

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang**: they don't support the Yankees. And anyway, it wouldn't turn invisible.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** I thought that was what I was for. I'm hurt.

Day 187

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** I'm sorry. That was thoughtless. All right, you can be my go-to invisible magical person. I've been sorting us into cabins, by the way, and giving us different Olympian parents.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **It's totally possible given that we don't even know our parents. And don't worry, I find it hard to believe you and Jeb share any actual DNA. But let me guess: Iggy's father is Hephaestus, god of the forge. They both like to build things, and blow them up.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** yes! Well done. I debated about whether or not Gazzy was also a son of Hephaestus, but decided he's more directly related to god of thieves and tricksters: Hermes. Yes?

Day 188:

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **Yes. Nudge… Aphrodite's daughter?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** you're pretty good at this. Yeah, Aphrodite's daughter. She can kick butt when she needs to, but then she's also really into fashion and looking pretty and nosing into other people's love lives.

Day 189

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** whose love life has Nudge barged into?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang**: I was thinking like, celebrities. She loves analyzing that stuff and thinks romance is so… well, romantic. Anyway. Angel was tough, but I think she's a daughter of Demeter. She loves animals and plants and flowers and likes to help my mom in the garden. What do you think?

Day 190

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: I was thinking more Huntress of Artemis. Angel's so young and innocent, but then she's a fighter when she needs or wants to be. Artemis loves animals and the wild, too, right?

Day 191

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **hmm… I think I agree. Nice points.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **so Iggy's a son of Hephaestus. Nudge a daughter of Aphrodite. Gazzy a son of Hermes. Angel a Huntress. Anyone you're missing?

Day 192

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang**: I've been thinking about you, but I'm not sure.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **can I hear my options and why?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** you don't get to _choose_ your parent!

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **nope, but I'm capable at looking at things rationally and choosing the best one.

Day 194

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang**: …you have to promise not to laugh.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **promise.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang**: okay. I'm torn between son of Zeus, Hades, or Athena.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: you're making me work. Why?

Day 196

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** well, Athena because of that whole rational thinking thing you just mentioned. If not a plan, you usually have an idea about what would or wouldn't be a good idea, and she's the goddess of battle plans and wisdom. You're not afraid to tell me if mine sucks. You're really good at noticing things like raptor flight patterns and incorporating them into your own life. You cracked that code back at Anne's, and you can lie under pressure. She's the goddess of warfare; you have to have courage for that. You're the bravest person I know.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: lying doesn't entail intelligence. And you're the one who plans; I just tell you if you need to come up with another one. And my code failed. But thanks-likewise.

Day 197

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **but you had the mind to get you to the code, and in your case, lying does. And you've come up with a few plans that may match my genius.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **I'm flattered. Okay, how about Hades? And if you say because I wear black like his kid in the book I'll kill you.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **you have a temper, even if you don't always show it. Sometimes you kind of stay in the background, you don't claim the spotlight. You're clever (your head better not be inflating, mister.) And your whole invisibility thing matches his Helm of Darkness, which grants invisibility. Plus, when you want to, you can be pretty frightening, like that whole "God doesn't like you" thing we pulled back in DC with those squatters. They were terrified-it was quite hilarious. And you have a really dry sense of humor. I'm not sure what that has to do with Hades, but I don't really imagine him as a "knock, knock" joke kind of guy. And your wardrobe isn't why I thought of Hades, but you're certainly not a son of Iris or something. Goddess of rainbows and whatnot.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **I can live with that. Now why on earth did you think of Zeus?

Day 199

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **I thought that would be obvious: he's the lord of the skies, and you're only at home while flying. The thing that counts against you as Hades is that, as lord of the Underworld, you might have ties to the earth and underground, which isn't so much your style.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **Perhaps, but I don't think Zeus is _my_ father. I guess it's a tie between Athena and Hades. I'll have to wait to be claimed.

Day 200

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang**: Guess what today is? 165 more days to go. And I think you're right about Zeus, but why did you write "but I don't think Zeus is _my_ father?" Whose father could he be?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **hmm, I don't know, maybe the only person we haven't yet discussed. Yours.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **Zeus? Me? Use your rational Athena mind to please tell me why.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **I could go on. Guess a few reasons.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** why? I told you my thoughts about you.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **because I think it's just as obvious as why you thought Zeus was mine.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang**: fine. I guess… well, I like to fly, too.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **bingo. Keep going.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **I'm the leader.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **I honestly hadn't thought of that, but true. What about your temper?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **I have NEVER turned anyone into a tree. Or killed them for random, unjust reasons.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **careful, this is your father we're talking about. Your temper can be explosive. You don't have a lot of patience, and what you lack in that department, you make up with your pride. You're the most impulsive person I know. Do you remember the myth about how Zeus led the gods, his family, in an uprising against their father, Kronos, to save the world?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** Gee, thanks. I thought he just wanted to be king.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** well, maybe. But part of him knew that his crazy father had swallowed his family members, ruled as a tyrant, and that Kronos had to go. Zeus was the brave one to stand up against Kronos, to defeat him in battle, who rallied the other gods to fight with him and win. That strike a chord?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **definitely a son of Athena. But that just moves back to the leader thing.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **he's the leader, true. But going deeper than that, he led the gods in a brutal fight he didn't know the outcome of. He held his family together. He kept them safe, fought for them, defended them, would have given up his life for them. Your impatience with BS, your temper, your pride, your tendency to jump to conclusions make you what you are.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** and what's that?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **You're our proud, impatient, explosive leader who has gotten us out of more situations that we've gotten into. You're brave, strong, smart; tough enough to beat Kronos and get your family back home to Olympus. I think you needed to hear that.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang: **thanks, Fang.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: but mostly, I'm sure there's someone out there who has been turned into a tree or something after getting on the wrong side of you.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **watch it or I'll turn you into a tree.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **psh. You'd miss me too much. Zeus and Athena get along.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **except for when they're arguing.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **well, that was a little pearl of wisdom I'll have to store away.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang**: bye, gonna go call upon the lightning to smite you where you stand. Go run away from spiders or something.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **I'll get on that. Enjoy yourself. Know that I'm laughing. And keep in mind while calling on your lightning bolts that I told you what I what I was thinking in about twenty minutes, instead of making you wait a few days obsessing over what I'm thinking. I must really like you.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **I'm sure you do, smartass, but keep in mind; flattery will do you no good.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **later, Max.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **see you. And thanks. Really.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **I meant it. Enjoy those remaining 165 days, k? No playing with lightning without supervision.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** damn. Bye, Fang.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **it's just til tomorrow. What do you have to go do, anyway? We were having such a stimulating conversation.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **help Ella with a science lab (it's really not her subject.) Then dinner. Clean up. Ella might use her computer for more work or whatever it is you do on computers in free time. I'll read.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** whatcha reading? Unless you have to go, like, now.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** Ella owes me. _To Kill a Mockingbird_ by Harper Lee. I totally take back what I said about it looking lame and boring. It's great.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **I'll keep it in mind. Bye for real this time?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** just til tomorrow.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** exactly.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** off to talk about the tectonic plates! Til tomorrow.

**Fang **to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **enjoy. Til tomorrow.

Day 207

Fang had to hand it to Itex. Their gear was top-notch, and he had always been grateful that his computer was solar powered as he practically lived outside. However, given that it was winter in Montana, he had been falling back on his computer charger more often. Still, he often ended up forgetting where he had last left it and the computer had died on numerous occasions before he remembered that it hadn't seen the light of day for a while. After a sweep of his room, he recalled that he had left it on the porch from the night before. He had been cold as he updated the blog, and his readers all asked why his words were all misspelled and sentences choppy, but it had been too long since he had stayed up and watched the stars.

He crept through the dark living room, glancing toward Mr. Darcy's snoring figure by the cough. Fang was surprised Brook could sleep through it, and smiled to himself as he readied to unlock the porch door; the only problem was that it was already unlocked. Immediately, Fang was on high alert. Had someone broken in? They would have to have a key; there was no sign of foul play. But then he realized that the dog was snuffling so loudly that he hadn't heard Brook's breathing and now realized it was non-existent, but wait…

He could hear something, a voice. Was Brook talking to someone? But no… now that he was concentrating, he could hear her singing softly. It was hard to hear the words, given that she was out of breath with the cracked ribs and he was listening through two glass doors, but yeah, that was definitely her and she was definitely singing. It sounded like a lullaby. For some reason, Fang found that he was smiling.

On second thought, maybe he didn't need his computer charger right now.

Instead, even though the clock read some time past midnight, he grabbed his notebook from the counter.

_Max-_


	20. Call Them Brothers

What on earth did I ever do to deserve such wonderful, lovely, brilliant, reviewers? I swear people OD on awesome pills to become as great as you are. There were so many fantastic reviews last chapter; I just wanted to die of happiness. Every time I logged on, it was like, BLIP! Someone else commented on _Letters._

My thought process each time: "Oh, that was nice of them."

My thought process after reading them: "asdfghjkl why are these people so amazing?"

Anyway. I basically fangirl (Fangirl?) over all of you. And to think it took me so long to update after this… I'm sorry. Between a number of issues, it definitely has taken me longer to update than usual, though this is about twelve pages long, so I hope you enjoy your dose of _Letters._

**I apologize ahead of time for being practically incoherent in my responses. Your reviews make me so happy I become as inarticulate and hyped up as an Edward Cullen fan-girl. Again, apologies, and please don't let my lack of proper English discourage you from reading/reviewing. **

**AthenaFangGranger26**-ahhh! I feel like we could be best friends, just based on the fact that _Percy Jackson, Harry Potter, _and _Maximum Ride_ take up a large majority of my thought process, haha. I'm very happy that you liked it so much, and that there's a fellow _PJO _-phite out there who reads this. When writing it, I was just rushing through, then I was thought… wait, what if some of my readers haven't read _Percy Jackson_? (Crime, I know.) So I went back and made it hopefully understandable to people who may not have read it. Needless to say, despite this, I'm glad it worked for someone who has! (Thank the gods!) Fang definitely took some thinking over for his godly parent, but I think Athena worked. I was never sure if I was a daughter of Athena or Poseidon (complete opposites, I know) but she has a place in my heart. Thank you, thank you, thank you, and you're pretty awesome yourself!

**Dancing On My Toes**, oh Dancing On My Toes, how do I love your reviews? –put to tune of Oh, Christmas Tree! Oh, Christmas Tree!- I'll answer that for you: I love your reviews as much as Max loves chocolate, Total loves Akila, Fang loves Max (-laughs-)… I think you get the point. I definitely have a few stories I follow and when I see them updated, I basically dance around the room, too, so to have someone else get that feeling when reading my story? It's pretty mind-blowing. I'm in love with your enthusiasm.

As for typing QT_PI_fang_luvr, I was able to copy and paste, but yes, it was a little frustrating… but no big deal. I just hope it flows and works. Regarding Greek mythology… no problem! I highly recommend reading Percy Jackson (_The Lightning Thief_ is number one.) At first I thought it was a little kid book, but I'm really glad my sister was taking forever in the shower that one day when I was waiting for her in my brother's room, trolling around his bookshelf… it's like Harry Potter. You see the first thinking it's for eleven year olds, but it's so much more than that. Anyway, not to pressure you or anything, that's just my take on PJO.

I'm relieved that the references worked out in this chapter, knowing that some of my readers haven't read _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_, and it kind of wrote itself. It was such a joy to type because-you're exactly right-whether or not they realized it, Max and Fang were telling each other what mattered. They're both immensely strong (physically and psychologically) characters, but everyone needs reassuring sometimes.

I love _Pride and Prejudice!_ Still haven't read the book, but the movie is excellent. The soundtrack is brilliant, too. And I appreciated the pun. I also love _To Kill a Mockingbird_! Like you said, thank you English class. Almost as much as my love of _Pride and Prej._ and _TKM_, I also adore cookies. Actually, that love may be equal to my love of those books… Ah, I'm rambling, and this response is very long, but to summarize: THANKS A BUNCH and YOU'RE AMAZINGand I LOVE YOUR REVIEWS. And, of course, thank you for reading.

-cue serious voice.- , have you been selling awesome pills to minors? Just kidding :~). Thank you, as always, for your lovely reviews. I'm always honored by nice reviews, just glad to know that this story is read and that it makes people feel something, you know? Thank you, thank you, thank you. Have a plateful of Martinez cookies, and enjoy chapter 20!

**xXxIamProbablyJustPlottingxXx-**I'm so sorry for making you wait! Again, your reviews always make me feel terrible when I don't update for a while, but at the same time, they make me update…? Does that make sense? Let me rephrase: thank you so much, I am truly humbled and thankful, I am so, so happy that you like this. I always feel bad when I have wonderful readers and it takes me forever and a half to update. Enjoy!

And it's **Amber!** Hello again :~)! Don't worry about not reviewing in a while, I know you're out there, and your love of my story makes me so happy. I'm sorry about not updating faster-life got in the way again. My sister told me today that when reality eventually catches up to me, I'm going to have to be put in an asylum or something, but moving on-yes! I highly encourage you to read Percy Jackson, and fall in love with him. Thank you so much-I do care about spelling/grammar, and though I'm a writer, I'm an even bigger reader, so I know what you're saying when you get frustrated about good stories being abandoned/never updated and others trying to write (it took me about five times to spell 'write.' Hmm… maybe I should stop this train of thought. Whatever. I regret nothing!) but they can't spell and don't bother with grammar and it makes me want to cry. English may not be the most beautiful language out there, but it deserves a little more respect. Thank you.

Regarding a year… I know, right? I feel like I've been writing this for ages (over a year now, actually, I think) and yet their year isn't over… hmmm. But I like writing this, and I think people like reading it, so good thing we still have another hundred or so days.

Fang was quite sweet, wasn't he? I don't think he always admits to himself just how much he cares about Max, having her to talk to, or just roll his eyes with when Total says something ridiculous. As readers we know they both care a lot about each other, but they're not going to jump head-long into a relationship after being best friends their entire lives, and though I see it that way, I'm glad my method/ideas work for you, too. And Brook is definitely my favorite OC I've ever made up. I actually don't have that many, but I have a few in one of my other stories, and they don't really compare to Brook. I've thought about her a lot, so perhaps that's it. She has a story, a life, she's _real_ to me. I swear she's out in the north-west Montana now-ah! My sister's coming! She think I needs to be put away for thinking about fictional characters too much!-anyway… yeah, so a lot of that thinking is about Fang/Brook's relationship, and seeing as they're both so reserved (and Brook's practically a hermit) it would take them a long time to warm up, but I think they have the potential to be really close.

Enjoy your senior year-basically all my sister talks about is how much she hates college applications-but should be a whirlwind, huh? Finally on your way out. Sorry about the slow update! And yes, electronic devices always choose the worst times to die…

**JealousMinds!** Hello, hello again! I thought I should let you know that I love your reviews, seeing your familiar eraser/Eraser icon every chapter (it makes me smile each time) and I just wanted to say thanks. Hope you enjoy the next chapter!

**And this document is now fifteen pages long due to review responses… I have a problem with brevity. Love you all!**

**XXXXX**

**Being September 11, 2011, I want to take a moment to honor and remember the over 3000 people that died on this same day ten years ago, and those still alive that are affected today. Between the innocent victims both on the planes and off, the brave heroes who overcame terrorists and crashed the plane into a field rather than Washington D.C., and the people who risked their lives to help America through is worst terrorist attack in history, there is so much to remember. We will never forget. **

**XXXXX**

Day 211

"Brook," Iggy exclaimed, jumping down the stairs in a single bound. "What are you doing?"

"Moving," the woman panted, leaning against the counter. The kitchen was barely twenty feet from her resting place in the living room, but she was breathing heavily, clearly exhausted. Fang crossed his arms, still not happy about this arrangement, but knowing there was no way to get Brook Hufftalen to sit down if she didn't want to. "Think it's about time, don't you?"

"Uh, no, I don't," said Iggy blandly. "Given that you broke a leg and cracked your ribs barely a month ago. Humans don't heal as quickly as we do. You shouldn't be walking around."

Fang didn't think this conversation was going to go well for Iggy. As if reading his mind, Brook just raised her eyebrows and turned back toward the counter. "Actually, I'm going grocery shopping today. You two can't go into town alone-people will gossip, as they tend to do in small towns. My friend Eileen is coming to pick me up in about fifteen minutes. I told her my nephews may or may not be coming with me. Capiche?"

"Insanity," Iggy muttered, reaching for a cereal box, only to feel how heavy it was and understand that Fang had eaten the last of it. He shot the other boy a look, but Fang just smirked. Early bird may not catch all the worms, but he certainly got more of them. "And we really are out of food. Are you sure-"

"Please don't argue with me, Iggy," Brook interrupted, her voice breathy but firm. "I am not sending you out alone. In fact, why don't you two just stay here? Do we need anything else? I have eggs, butter, milk, cake flour, normal flour, carrots, spaghetti, feta, ricotta, goat cheese, crackers, peanut butter, grape jelly-"

"Jam," Fang interrupted, despite himself. "Jelly looks funny."

He noticed a smile ghost across Brook's face as she made the appropriate mark on her list. "Any particular flavor?"

"Strawberry," he said.

"Strawberry?" Iggy asked, a mocking glint in his eye. "Pink? I thought you were too hardcore for that, man."

Fang crossed his arms. "Strawberry jam is the food of the gods. They should smite you for your insolence."

Iggy smirked. "All this reading is really expanding your vocabulary."

"Boys," Brook warned, but though she was grinning, her eyes were tight. Was she actually irritated with them, Fang wondered? But perhaps he just imagined it; she was in pain, after all. "Tell me if I'm missing anything before Eileen shows up. If you behave I can stop at the bookstore while I'm in town, I'm sure she won't mind."

Fang almost smiled, and Iggy laughed outright at her teasing tone.

"Strawberry _jam_," she read, "canned peaches, lemon juice, orange juice, vanilla extract, baking soda, salt, coriander, chicken, ham, bread, cream of tartar, yogurt, chocolate chips, normal chips, tortilla chips, four tomatoes, cilantro, a mango-Iggy, do you honestly expect to find a mango in Montana in the middle of winter?"

Iggy nodded, biting his fingernail absently. "Market Basket is magical, didn't you know that?"

Fang snorted.

"What?" Iggy asked, petulant and making sweeping gestures with his arms. Brook and Fang looked at each other, each trying not to laugh. "I'm just trying to make salsa so we can have Mexican night. We have to look for an avocado, too. None of that premade guacamole. Also, make sure black beans and tortilla shells are on the list. I thought I told Fang to write them down, but since when does he ever actually listen to me? Oh, and we need cereal. And something for me to eat. Fang, did you really eat all the Corn Flakes?"

"I didn't eat all of them. You ate about half the box."

"Did you _finish_ the Corn Flakes, smartass?"

Brook flicked a pen at Iggy, and he caught it as it flew through the air. "Language," she admonished absently. "I can get cereal. Iggy, would you mind getting my reusable bags from the pantry? Eileen always forgets to bring hers."

He gave her a thumbs-up. "On it!"

Iggy disappeared, and Fang watched Brook peruse the list again. "Does Eileen know about us?" He asked, not bothering to beat around the bush. Brook's eyes froze. She hadn't been expecting it. He hadn't either, that sudden sneaking feeling of suspicion; was she trying to get away and then send the Erasers in when everything was clear? Fang knew it was a morbid thought, especially about someone like Brook Hufftalen, but his past was even worse. He had promised Max to meet her and the kids at the cliffs, and he would be there. He wasn't going to fall into some mindless trap.

Brook was human, and therefore did not pick up on the traitorous thoughts running through Fang's mind. She was _normal_. "I told her I had two nephews staying with me, in case she dropped by earlier or you decided to come with us."

"Of course we're coming with you," Fang murmured, trying to keep his voice even. He felt guilty having even thought about Brook turning on them, and yet his rational mind knew it-everything-was always possible.

"Yeah," Iggy said, returning with the cloth bags. "Who else is going to carry the magical mangoes and everything else?"

Brook smiled softly, shifting to look at the pair of them. "I didn't think you would want to come. I know you don't like going into town, or cars and small spaces. Eileen can help me."

There was no arguing with them. Fang knew he wasn't letting her walk around on slippery pavement or limp up and down grocery store aisles in her state. She was just like Max; headstrong and unable to say "I can't." Sometimes, they just needed someone to say it for them. She didn't look well, her face strained and pale even as she smiled and thanked the boys. Even sitting gingerly on the edge of the piano bench and stroking the keys did not seem to help her. Unsure of what to say, what to do, Fang waited in silence by the window and watched the flakes flurry down until a silver minivan appeared and turned into the driveway.

Eileen Cutler was a nice woman, Fang supposed. Nice enough to drive her minivan out into three feet of snow, all the way across town, up Brook's winding road, and eventually, her driveway, only to drive all the way back and do the whole thing again, just so Brook could get groceries. Given that her two sons were strapped into the way back, one about Gazzy's age and the other a little younger than Fang and Iggy, and arguing even before they got into the car, Fang had a lot of respect for the woman.

"Ethan, Michael!" She snapped as Iggy helped Brook clamber into the passenger seat. "Hush your mouths this instant."

"But mom, he's breathing too loudly!"

"Ethan…" The woman warned. Fang eyed her as he buckled in, noticing how much taller she was than Brook. She was a lot paler, too, and despite the size difference, she looked softer, somehow. Fang wondered if she would have cried out when breaking a leg and a few ribs, or if she could stay up all night playing soothing piano music to a sick horse. Then he wondered why this mattered. She raised two boys, so that must have taken a lot of strength. Still, even in her broken state, Brook had a tough presence. He admired that about her.

Rolling her eyes, Eileen smiled at Fang and Iggy. "I'm sorry about them. It's refreshing seeing two boys that actually get along."

Unsure of what else to do, Fang nodded. Iggy didn't look comfortable, understandable, what with the small car-compared to say, _outside_-and the noise from the back seat. Mrs. Cutler-who insisted that they call her Eileen-began to back out of the driveway, talking amicably all the while. She was completely oblivious to how uncomfortable both he and Iggy were, and now that he realized it, Brook was, as well. Now that Fang thought about it, he couldn't actually remember seeing a car anywhere at Brook's. He assumed she knew how to drive, having offered to chauffer Max back to Arizona, but it just had occurred to him that maybe Brook did not like driving. She rode her horse into town-so Western movie cliché, he knew, but true-and attached backpacks to her saddle to carry groceries or books or whatever else she was picking up. He watched her, noticing how she had pressed herself as far back into the seat as possible. Her fingers flickered around, playing the ghostly keys of an invisible piano, but even that nervous habit was jerky and tense. Maybe it was intuition, or perhaps some bird-DNA gift, but now that he noticed, he could tell how much she hated being inside a car.

Eileen was relatively oblivious, chatting away about a husband and the school board and never having time to write anymore, and Brook was dying at her side. She had been so casual about driving earlier. Was it the small space, Fang thought? Brook was a wanderer, and being confined couldn't be any easier for her than it was for him. Even if it was the case, though, he wondered if it went deeper than that. Maybe driving-and particularly driving in the snow-reminded her of Robin.

As soon as this occurred to him, it clicked into place.

_That _was why she hadn't wanted Fang and Iggy to come along. Not because she was going to blow up the house while they were left behind, but because she was utterly terrified of driving and snow.

And to think he had thought she was a traitor, even for an instant... Fang swallowed the lump in his throat, concentrating on the countryside that crawled by as Eileen maneuvered her way through the roughly plowed roads. Brook wasn't out for blood, she was _scared_. Scared of losing Fang and Iggy the way she had lost the man she loved. Inside, Fang was writhing with indignation. He was utterly ashamed for accusing her when Brook had never been anything but kind and supportive and helpful and encouraging and free. She wasn't a ball and chain, like Fang had been expecting when it was announced that his family had been found. Brook didn't tie him to the soil; all she did was care and love and feel frightened of losing someone else the way she lost Robin.

Fang pressed his forehead to the window, the cool glass a pleasant distraction from his thoughts. Why had he done this? He hadn't intended to; after leaving the first time, he never wanted to let the flock leave his sight again. And yet here he was, with his _mother_, someone who cared about him as he was, someone who had accepted Iggy as a nephew or surrogate-son. He had let her grow fond of them, maybe even _love_ them (he winced) and they were leaving in little more than one hundred days. He knew what it was like to love someone and have them leave, even if it wasn't the same way Brook loved he and Iggy.

That, at least, he was sure of. The realization that she cared so much wasn't as wonderful as he had always imagined it to be, back when he was in a cage and his only known relative was a test tube. Brook Hufftalen loved him for who he was. She loved his wings because they were a part of him, just as she loved his eyes and their similarity to Robin's. And, like Robin, he would be leaving her, just when he had found her.

This was too much. Fang couldn't bear thinking about it anymore, knowing he would break if he did. He needed to run, needed to _fly_, needed to be anywhere but stuck in the too-small car with the woman who loved him.

Who ever would have thought that knowing you were loved would be so painful?

He would only hurt her; that he knew. He would leave, and probably never be able to come back. He should never have stayed so long in the first place. The whitecoats would hear about her, find her, and then they would abuse her to get to him. That was only the _physical _abuse he knew he would cause, but what about all the mental strain? He knew she would be obsessing over what she could have done differently, what she wished for, what she was afraid of… _staying up late tossing and turning must run in the family,_ he thought bitterly.

And then, as if it couldn't get any worse, Eileen popped a CD into the player. "Sorry, guys. The snow is pretty thick, so we might be driving awhile. We listen to a lot of books on tape, and it's the only thing that quiets my kids down. Is that okay with you?"

Iggy shrugged, perfectly at ease, probably even happier. They had both discovered a fondness for literature during their time in Montana. "Yeah, sure. I love books on tape. What are you listening to now?"

"Excellent!" The woman exclaimed, clearly pleased. Brook had said she was an English teacher in town; of course she would be glad they liked books. "Though again I must apologize, we're in the middle of this one book and my sons just love it. I have to admit, I was a little skeptical at first-I'm not really into sci-fi, but it's grown on me quite a bit. It's called _Maximum Ride_-have you heard of it?"

Iggy, of course, was all laughter, no doubt preparing dozens of things to tell Max about "James Patterson's" bestseller. "My friends have read it," he said. "And they told me all about it. I haven't read it myself, but Nick and I here are pretty familiar with the story. What part are you at?"

Wind buffeted the front of the car. Brook made a noise in the back of her throat that could have been anything, but Fang was pretty sure he was the only one who knew how frightened she was. He watched her head turn, looking back at he and Iggy, wild-eyed. He blinked, and her brown eyes fastened on him. Trying to smile rather than grimace, he inclined his head. Everybody, adult or not, needed a little reassuring sometimes. Unconsciously, it seemed, she was biting her lip, but she raised an eyebrow and nodded at the stereo. _You okay with this?_

He nodded, then turned to look out the window again.

"It's about these six kids who were stolen as children and experimented on by scientists at a place called the School." One of the boys in back explained with enthusiasm. "There's Max-the leader-Fang-her, like, 'right-wing man' she says-Iggy, Nudge, the Gasman, and Angel. Max, Fang, and Iggy are fourteen, Nudge is eleven, I think, Gazzy is eight, and Angel's six. We've almost finished the second book, and there's this Max clone and Ari's still alive and the flock is in Florida and it's _so_ intense. Hurry up, mom, start it!"

_Still alive._ Fang thought. _But not anymore._

And then Eileen pressed 'play,' and Fang truly wished he were anywhere else.

XXXXX

It was the strangest thing, hearing his life repeated as a story, having it taken as fiction. The entire flock knew about Max's books, sort of a fall back plan as proof of what happened to them, but they had never read them. Max was immensely secretive about her manuscript, and it surprised Fang how accurate everything was. She had entire conversations scripted to the word, which made it even seem even more surreal. Not that the narrator sounded anything like Max, but what his best friend had recorded echoed in his head throughout the grocery store. And-not to be insulting or anything-but in person, Max wasn't always the most observant, emotion-thought-wise. But what she wrote about-it was as if words encouraged her to notice everything. Fang imagined that this was what Angel felt like, hearing what Max had seen and written about so vividly. She brought him back to Anne's, back to the flying Erasers. He could feel the claws of panic again, as if she was in front of him, lying in the dairy section in a pool of her own blood. As supposed "fiction" went, she was an amazing narrator. Michael and Ethan loved her. And the flock accused _him _of having Fangirls.

_You die when we die!_

"Fang, watch it with the cart, man! You nearly took out that old lady back there."

"Iggy," Brook croaked, casting a look over her shoulder in a way that made Fang stiffen, but she was just checking to see where the lady had gone too. "Rule Number One of Normalcy: Lower your voice when talking about age. It's a sensitive subject among the general public."

_There was something I needed to say. "Sorry. About before."_

_Fang shot a sideways glance at me, his eyes dark and inscrutable, as always. He looked back out at the water. I didn't expect any more acknowledgment than that. Fang never-_

"_You almost gave me a heart attack," he said quietly. "When I saw you, and all that blood . . ." He threw a small rock as hard as he could down the beach._

"_I'm sorry."_

"_Don't do it again," he said._

_I swallowed hard. "I won't."_

_Something changed right then, but I didn't know what._

"I still can't find a mango…" Iggy muttered under his breath, fingers ghosting over the imported apple basket as if he could turn them into mangoes just through sheer will power. "You guys sure you can't see any?"

"What does a mango look like?" Fang made himself ask, noticing the weird look Iggy was sending in his direction. His voice sounded off, but he tried to brush it off. "I don't think I've ever seen a fresh one."

"Well, it wouldn't be fresh." Said Brook, leaning against the counter. She claimed she was fine, but she looked exhausted. Fang wished he didn't eat so much, or that he could eat snow, then they wouldn't have had to leave the house. He wasn't quite comfortable anywhere these days, but the house was better than in a grocery store, watching Brook in her discomfort, or in a car skidding around on snowy roads. "Iggy, don't get me wrong, I love everything you make, but we don't _need _a mango."

"We do for mango salsa." The other boy insisted with a stubborn set to his jaw. Fang was almost amused.

He especially loved when Max wrote about what she actually thought. Oftentimes these thoughts were dark and made him long to see her, to go back to that moment and reassure her properly, but sometimes it made him grin. He didn't read minds, and yeah, they were close, but despite his discomfort in the car, her words could make him smile. That was his Max.

_I'm a freaking princess when it comes to other people's feelings. "Yo dogbreath, get your paws of the everglades."_

Or:

_"I need wings," said Total, still sniffling. "I need my own wings. Then things like that wouldn't happen."_

_Yeah, that was all I needed. A flying talking mutant dog._

And, basically paraphrasing his thoughts during the Pirates of the Caribbean Disney World ride:

_Please, I begged silently, please do not let my last moments on earth be me crammed into a tiny boat in the dark, surrounded by mechanical singing pirates._

It was so hard hearing about where he had messed up, what he could have-should have-done differently. It was hardest hearing what Max had thought in her darkest moments: her doubt, her fear, her so-called failures, and wishing he could just take all of them away and make her laugh. What made hearing all this nearly bearable was listening to the times when he _did _make her laugh, or at least feel better.

_"Did you know that wasn't me, the other Max?" I asked._

"_Yeah."_

"_When?"_

"_Right away."_

"_How?" I persisted. "We look identical. She even had identical scars and scratches. She was wearing my clothes. How could you tell us apart?"_

_He turned to me and grinned, making my world brighter. "She offered to cook breakfast."_

There was that comment Brook had mentioned: _he turned to me and grinned, making my world brighter._ He wasn't sure how he managed it, or how she had gotten their roles reversed, but it made him smile anyway.

"Do they have canned mango?"

Brook sighed, but she was smiling. "I highly doubt it, but we can check, if you would like."

Anticipating what was coming next, Fang began to roll the cart towards aisle seven, making sure his gait was slow enough so that Brook could keep up without feeling that they were purposefully walking at a snail's pace for her benefit.

"Is the mango all that's left?" He asked as she limped up beside him. For a moment, she didn't reply, and Fang instinctively turned to see what had garnered her attention. When he realized what it was, he stopped in his tracks, and Iggy walked right into him with a muffled curse word.

Grocery stores were a relatively new concept to the flock, especially taking their time and seeing all the sights. As such, Fang needed to ask, "What _is_ that?"

"A lobster tank," Brook murmured, shaking her head as she moved on. "They make me sad."

_Sad_ was an understatement. The tank was minute, hardly bigger than the crate Fang had lived in for the first eight years of his life, and yet it was filled to the brim with lobsters. The crustaceans clambered over each other, stamped the others to the bottom of the tank, waved their claws, held together with rubber bands. It was all together too familiar a scene, and it made Fang sick. They were alive, they had been free in the vast ocean, and now they were stuck in this hellhole, destined for dinner. Fang would rather they were killed outright, rather than this torture. He grabbed Iggy's wrist, muttered a quick explanation he knew the other boy wanted, and practically dragged him after Brook.

He didn't realize how tense he was until Iggy yanked on his arm. "Dude," he hissed. "Chill. You probably look like an axe murderer, and Number Two Rule of Normalcy is to never show the axe murderer side to your personality in public."

Fang made an effort to slow his steps, turning the cart into aisle seven.

"Plus," Iggy continued, and his voice had dropped all hints of severity. "Max's book is quite enlightening, don't you think? All your bonding moments… I'm surprised it hasn't gotten any further yet. Although, evidentially there's a third book-ow!-Brook! He hit me!"

"Shame. I found the peaches."

Iggy brightened and darted out of Fang's reach, still laughing. "Okay-any mangoes?"

Day 250

_I'm pretty sure she's crazier than you are, Max_. _Dead serious. She got a call yesterday morning from someone who said someone had told her that there was this horse auction going on at this enormous farm about five miles from here. Not even telling us what a horse auction was, she told us that she was getting Crazy ready to ride and that she'd be heading out in half an hour. We were welcome to join her if we wanted to. At this point, Ig and I had agreed that she had lost her mind, but she said the road led nearly directly there, she wasn't _that _injured, and that no way in hell was she going to miss out on an auction. I didn't like it-frankly, it reminded me of the School, not to mention the slave trade we learned about in actual school-but whether or not she admits it, her leg is still relatively busted, and her ribs have got to hurt. Riding is the only way she gets around, really. She hates driving, doesn't even own a car._

_ Anyway, to make a long story short (TOO LATE! Have you seen Clue? If not, watch it), we headed out a little while later. According to Brook, horses are made to trot for long distances, so Crazy kept a good pace. There wasn't any traffic, so Ig and I flew, and she explained about the slaughterhouse horses. At these big auctions, it's pretty common for the good horses to go-but there are always the ones left over, the ones no one seems to want. If you can believe it, people actually buy these horses to kill them for meat. Brook was totally disgusted when she was explaining it, and it's definitely pretty gruesome. I'm pretty sure it's illegal, too, but these guys don't show up at auctions in t-shirts with big letters reading "HORSES TASTE LIKE CHICKEN" or something. _

_Iggy asked what Brook was going to do; how just one person could change a whole enterprise, and she said that even saving one horse was an achievement. She even quoted Galadriel from _Lord of the Rings_: "even the smallest person can change the course of the future." _

_So when we arrived, Brook limped about the stalls and made small talk and I led Crazy. The actual auction was a nightmare, everyone bidding regardless of how the horse actually felt about it. In the end, there were quite a few pretty pitiful ones left. They were all so skinny and just… empty. Horses have these huge, expressive eyes, and they all looked like Iggy when he took the bandage off of his eyes for the first time and realized everything would stay dark. Brook ended up buying two, for about a hundred dollars each. I hate it how people put money on animals, but I guess it's how this stupid world works. I hate how awfully they were treated. I hate the small stalls all the horses were stuffed in. I hate the stupid auctioneer. I hate-_

_Sorry about that. That was dark. Honestly, I didn't know if our two horses could make it the five miles back to Brook's, but I think they liked being in a herd, and Brook just has this effect on horses. They would have followed her until they dropped, which they nearly did, back at the barn. All the other horses were really curious, and we stayed down for hours, brushing their dirty coats out and making sure they weren't going to die immediately. There were a lot of vet stuff and phone calls made but eventually, they looked a little better. Their eyes don't look quite as empty anymore._

_Thank God we have groceries now. Iggy made hot chocolate and we brought some down to Brook in the barn, and she had us stay and help her brainstorm names. (Legit ones, not 'Horse #426' or 'Horse #73' or any of that crap.) We haven't decided anything yet, but I'll give you the list._

_One of them, a mare (girl adult horse, for those not up with the lingo) is what Brook calls an appaloosa, mostly brown but her rear end and hind legs are white with brown spots. The other is a gelding (boy adult horse) and he's a palomino, AKA, Iggy's horse equivalent. They have these creamy coats with lighter manes and tails. He was pretty filthy, but Brook's already in love with him. I think she likes horses more than people. _

_We came up with these for the girl: Boadicea (a Celtic warrior queen), Minerva (Athena's Roman name), and Atalanta (the fastest runner-and a girl-in all of Ancient Greece.) _

_For the gelding: Leonidas (king of the Spartans, he was in _300),_ Mr. Bingley (another _Pride and Prejudice_ character), John Proctor (her favorite character in _The Crucible) _or Zeus, because he's the color of lightning, and Brook says that when he gets better, he'll be really fast. I thought, since they seem really close, that partner names would be nice, like Zeus and Atalanta or Zeus and Minerva. Granted, Leonidas would also work-we seem to be feeling very Greek, today. Or Leonidas and Boadicea-both rulers. _

_Either way-it's hard to absorb that she has _eight horses_. I think the flock is easier than six horses. That's going to be a lot of work, alone…_

_Anyway, sorry for the general depressing mood to this letter. But send your feedback on the names, Brook's curious as to what you think, too. She was frustrated that she already had an Elizabeth, because in _The Crucible, _that's the name of Proctor's wife, too. She's pretty set on John Proctor for the gelding, and I think she's going to go with Boadicea for the mare. _

_They're pretty miserable, but I have some pictures of the new guys, and then all the snow. It's _feet_ deep._

_Keep in touch-_

_ -Fang_

_Oh, and hey, just out of curiosity, you know how you write books? Are you putting the letters in it? Do you write about stuff exactly as it happens, specifically? I know you've asked us for input on occasion. Just curious._

Day 259

_Fang_… _People eat horses? Really?_

_ -shudders-_

_ And other people still expect me to save the world? C'mon. People need to chill out and go watch a Disney movie or something. I swear my life would be a lot easier._

_ Anyway, as for names…_

_ I really like Mr. Bingley. Not that I've read the book, but I think it would suit a horse. In the picture he still looks a little thin and bedraggled, but he already looks happier than I'll bet he was at the auction-or slaughterhouse. However, though I haven't read the book, I did watch the movie with Ella, and though I was a little skeptical at first, I actually really liked it. Mr. Bingley's eventual wife is named Jane, and I think the mare kind of looks like a Jane. I also liked Boadicea-Brook has a thing for queens, doesn't she?-and Minerva, but I think I'm voting for Mr. Bingley and Jane. I feel like Leonidas and Zeus would have to be like, those enormous Budweiser horses, the ones that pull the huge carriage? Mr. Bingley doesn't look fierce and foreboding, he looks pretty well mannered and kind, in the picture. One of the reasons I liked Mr. Bingley so much in the movie was because he was so genial; he could care less that the girl he liked was from a lower class and all that drama. He was just a nice man who happened to have a lot of money but certainly didn't act like that._

_ Again, maybe if the world just watched Pride and Prejudice, I would have more time to sit back and enjoy the show, hmm? Granted, not sure how you would get half the male population (and plenty of girls, too, I certainly never planned on it) to watch a _romance._ Perish the thought!_

_ Is Brook okay up there with eight horses? Judging by the pictures you sent, Montana definitely gets a heap of snow, and it can't be easy to do it alone… but I'm pretty sure she'd try to kill me if she caught me saying that. But still-it's gotta be a lot, plus they're not exactly cheap, are they? And she just makes her money giving piano and horseback riding lessons? Mucho respect._

_ Speaking of the snow, I'm a big fan of your documentation of the snowman-making contest you had. I liked the one with three heads, the ones buried in the snow, and the one that got run over by a snow reindeer (Iggy's work, I presume?) best. Ella saw me looking at them and thought they were pretty funny, too. In light of this, Ella and I made sand angels, then decorated them with stones we found that shine in the sunlight. We took pictures-cool, huh? It's like they have actual halos, and mine has wings. Granted, now I have dirt in my feathers and it sucks. You know how some birds take dust baths? They're crazy. Freaking crazy. But it's an excuse to go to the river, so we took a picnic basket and Sirius and Magnolia and went swimming all day. Whenever you want to send me more chocolate, you are perfectly welcome to it-haha. _

_ As for my books… yeah, I generally record what happens, relatively accurately. Why the curiosity?_

_ Have you _read _them?_

_ Just curious, of course._

_ -Max_


	21. Gimme Sympathy

Hey everyone! I'm so sorry, but I can't reply individually right now; my computer is about to die, and it looks like my charger is broken-_please be okay, please be okay_-but I want you all to know that I greatly appreciate you reading this, I love your reviews and all of you, and thanks so much for stopping by for the latest installment of _Letters!_ Sorry it took so long to update; I don't know how I feel about this chapter, so input would be great.

Until we meet again,

-Ivy

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Day 265

It was just like my old nightmares. But worse. Heart racing, I woke, throat raw with shouting. Someone was pounding on my door and an instant later, mom bolted in. She was speaking, asking questions as she sat on the edge of my bed, but I hardly noticed her. Hunched over, I pulled my blankets close, unbearably hot but needing to hold _something_. Mom's cool hands were on my shoulders, her voice in my ear, and knowing she was so close and witnessing this whole spectacle was unbearable. I held the quilt to my face, feeling my tears and sweat and hot breath burning my face as I tried to hold it together. If my life hadn't been so terrible, I would have been more terrified than I had ever been before. As it was, I was still more frightened than I had been in a long time.

"Max?" Mom murmured, rubbing my shoulders. I flinched. "Sweetie, was it a bad dream?"

I choked, trying not to sob. She had no idea. I tried desperately to breathe, to convince myself that it was only a nightmare, only a goddamned _nightmare_. The door creaked, and Ella whispered my name from the doorway. I turned away, not able to look at her. I wasn't even supposed to _be _here! I didn't belong in this bedroom, alone, and mother or not, Valencia Martinez had never been the one I turned to when I was scared.

"Max?" She asked, placing a hand on my arm. I jerked away, pushing my tangled blankets at her and scrambling off the bed. Where were my shoes?

"What are you doing?" I heard her ask, voice sharp, but I didn't care. I tripped over a pile of books, swearing loudly, again yanking my arm free from my mom's grip. I didn't need shoes, I realized, throwing the window open and just trying to see through my tearing eyes. _I just need to fly_.

And so I leaped into the cool night air, wings already beating. Mom and Ella, both calling, were left behind, their voices fading into silence. This all happened so quickly, and yet it was an immediate relief to be away from their worry and words and wingless backs. I inhaled deeply, still trying to calm down. The air is always so much cooler at night, even in Arizona, and it made it somewhat easier to think and wipe away my tears. In the air, maybe I could come to grips with the unbearable dream. It was easier to forgive mom up here, as well. She had been trying to help, I knew, and I had been exceedingly ungrateful. But I was still shaking-still terrified.

_This was exactly why we shouldn't be separated_, I raged, _so I know where everyone is and if they're safe._ More than that, we were supposed to be together so that I could _protect _them. I could hardly breathe at the thought of not being there to save them, then have…

No. I wouldn't think about it. Couldn't think about it, not without feeling ready to throw up. I needed… I just needed my flock, my family, my rightwing man and my best friend. I needed to know they were safe and whole and asleep in their beds, not sliding on a slippery road in a car, crashing into a snow bank while I could do nothing…

My wingbeats faltered. I needed to calm down and even my breathing; I couldn't fly like this. If there was one thing I could have immediately though, it was flight. Better yet, I knew where I needed to go instead of wheeling in aimless circles above the desert. But I had promised Nudge, my remaining marbles protested, and we had already broken the rules so many times, and it always hurt more after we parted _again._

_Screw Nudge_… I growled, already angling myself northward. I could make my own decisions, and right now, I needed to assure myself that nothing had happened, and nothing was going to suffice save actually seeing him, making sure his neck was still in proper condition, that he hadn't gone driving in that snow he talked about, that he didn't follow in the steps of his father…

It was a delusion, a nightmare, and yet I knew I wouldn't rest until I confirmed this myself. Call it paranoia, call it dependency, call it whatever the hell you want, but I was tired of being alone.

His windowsill was cold. Colder than the seventh layer of Hell. I was abruptly aware that I was barefoot; wearing only a holey t-shirt and some shorts, and that there was a fierce wind kicking snow every which way. Touching the glass was like plunging into ice water, but I pressed against it anyway, just able to see him twitch in his sleep. The blankets were tangled around his long legs. Was he having nightmares, too?

I wasn't sure what had come over me, why I needed him so badly that I physically hurt. I tried the window. Knowing Fang, no exit was ever locked. It gave easily, probably used to opening and closing at all hours. I shut it carefully behind me, then moved a little closer to him.

"Fang?" I whispered, my voice breaking on his name. He had goosebumps on his arms and curled inward in his sleep. He needed to wake up _now. _He was too still, too cold. "Fang!"

Faster than my gritty eyes could register, his eyes had flashed open, and my arm was in a vice-like hold, his other hand reaching back, ready to punch me into next year. He was breathing raggedly, but breathing, thank God. His grip relaxed slightly, his lips forming my name in silent surprise, but I didn't wait around to see what else he thought about me showing up in his room at the middle of the night. I launched into him, wrapping my arms around his chest and holding him as tightly as I could. I pressed my head into his shoulder, again counting my breaths and promising I wouldn't cry on him, which seemed to be a growing trend.

He stiffened, an unbendable rock in pajama pants and a black t-shirt. He smelled like Dove soap and snow and hay and feathers and wind, and this familiar scent calmed me like no glimpse in the window could. He wouldn't smell like anything if he were dead. I could feel his ribcage expanding, his feathers ruffling softly under his shirt. After the initial surprise, he softened a little and pulled me towards him, allowing me a little more room on the bed. His blankets had been pushed aside, and I think I knocked his pillow to the floor, but all that mattered was that he was here and I was here and we were together and alive.

"Hey," he whispered into my hair.

"Hey," I whispered back.

I felt his hand, tentative, soft, barely there but definitely present, on my shoulder. Unlike mom, I didn't shake him off.

"You okay?" He asked. "Physically?"

I nodded into his shoulder. "I haven't gotten your letter."

"Is that why you came?" He teased, but his voice was serious. "To kill me in my sleep?"

"I wouldn't have woken you if I wanted to kill you."

His torso shook as he chuckled, and I smiled as he pulled me a little closer. He wasn't dead. I hadn't abandoned him. "That's reassuring. Max-is that all that you wore? You flew to Montana in February in _that_?"

Fang's voice was rough with sleep deprivation. At least he had a real excuse, unlike mine. It had seemed so real, at the time. Now I was just relieved that I could laugh at myself for overreacting to a mere dream.

"I used super-speed," I told him, continuing to speak in our hushed tones. "It was fast."

This didn't appease him; he muttered something under his breath and nudged me to one side, ducking to retrieve the blankets. Fang didn't meet my eyes as he wrapped the comforter around my shoulders, and now that I was encompassed with warmth, I realized how cold I truly was.

"Thanks." I muttered, unable to resist shifting closer to him and his body heat. "Sorry I'm acting so messed up."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really." I admitted, resting my head on his shoulder. I could worry about the consequences of all this when the sun rose. For now, I just wanted him near and to never leave. I was tired, and the blanket was comfortable, but the memories of my last dream were still too raw. I couldn't sleep. Not yet.

"How's Brook?" I asked instead. It would keep me awake.

"Better. Loves the horses."

I looked up at him, noticing how the moonlight cut across his high cheekbones, casting his eyes into shadow. "Names?"

A ghost of a grin flickered across his face, and he tapped my head with his forehead. "She loved your idea, hadn't even thought of it. Mr. Bingley and Jane are now official residents."

I smiled, nestling into him. At this point he was practically my pillow, but I offered him some blanket to compensate. He pulled it across his folded legs calmly. He had no idea why I was there, and he was completely at ease with my showing up. Despite usually acting like an emotionless brick wall, he kept his arms around me, and I was extremely thankful. Knowing him, he probably knew how close I had been to tears-not something I was exactly proud of-but this was good. We were a flock, a family, and when one of us had a nightmare about-

Well, we were there for each other.

After a time, Fang leaned back against the wall and I sat next to him, hogging most of the warm comforter and trying to fight off sleep. I wanted to hear his voice, but I knew how tired he was, and I had already woken him up. I could hardly _keep_ him awake now. My head bobbed, but I jerked awake. No more nightmares tonight.

"Max," Fang finally murmured, sounding half-asleep himself. "You're allowed to sleep."

I shuddered. He waited. I closed my eyes tight and tried to squirm away. His eyes were open instantly, the hint of a frown masking his face.

"I dreamed you were dead." I told those midnight eyes. "That you and I were driving in the snow. Remember when Brook told us about your-about Robin? In my dream, we were driving in a car, and the roads were slippery. We weren't driving too fast, but out of _nowhere _came this SUV and it slipped on the ice. It hit our car and we spun off the road into a snow bank. I was okay, but when I turned to see if you were… you had-"

"Broken my neck."

"You-"

"I have them, too. About y-about the flock." He admitted softly, looking away from me and out the frosted window.

"You do?"

He nodded and murmured, "We're a flock. We take care of each other. It's hard to break that habit if something happens, hard to know it's not your fault."

"But it would be," I argued, scooting to his side, watching his dark eyes even as he gazed out the window. "If I wasn't there and you-or anyone-died, it would be my fault. I'm the leader, I'm supposed to take care of-"

Again, he blocked me off. "You do, Max. You practically drive yourself crazy trying to take care of us. If and when any of us die, you're the one who has prolonged it until there is nothing left you can do."

I snorted and he looked sharply at me, his face blank and closed off. "If I can't do anything, I _have_ failed, Fang. It would be my fault."

Fang's voice sharpened ever so slightly. "If my neck had been broken in the car crash? It wouldn't be your fault. It would be the fault of all the laws of physics that made me lurch in such a way that I had broken my neck. Now, as amazing as you are, you can hardly claim credit for the laws of physics."

My throat was closing, but I tried to laugh. "As far as _you_ know! After all, I am all-knowing and all-powerful."

A smile ghosted across his face, and he surprised me by taking my hands. I crept back towards him, so that I could see the reflection of the moon in his night-sky eyes.

"All right, _Zeus_." He whispered, still smiling. "How about I offer you an alternative so you don't have to fly to Montana whenever your all-knowing imagination goes too far?"

The happy flame flickering in my chest died with his words, and he must have seen it in my face for he squeezed my hands and continued.

"I'm not saying, I don't want you here," he assured me. "But you could at least have an easier trip if we both promise each other to make our best effort at not dying."

The abrupt dejection and hurt I had felt at the mere thought that Fang didn't want me here faded. We both know we couldn't promise to never die-that was usually out of our control-and even if it was silly, his words did make me feel better. Hardly daring to smile, I nodded.

"I'd like that, _Athena_."

This time his smile remained, and we settled against each other with the blanket pulled up close. I nudged him with my elbow.

"Your room is really cold," I whispered and could practically hear his smirk when he replied.

"Your room is in Arizona."

I elbowed him again, harder this time. He snickered and shifted to lay recumbent on the bed. "_Blanket stealer!"_ I hissed, snatching some back and putting my head on his pillow. He laughed, low in his throat.

"I'm still gonna worry," I told him after a time. I liked the way the moon tossed light across his room. I could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and with such a great view of the sky, I knew why Fang had chosen this one.

"I know," he mumbled, more than half asleep. "Me, too."

I tried closing my own eyes, and was pleasantly surprised that I could still hear this heartbeat, the air circulating through his lungs. I shivered and burrowed a little deeper under the blankets, but still not wanting to get too close to him in the small, shared bed. Talk about awkward the next morning. Wearily, he opened his eyes and watched me as he began to unfold his wings, as if gauging my reaction.

"Is this okay?" He asked, placing one tentatively around my exposed shoulders. Even before replying, the warmth was immediate. It was certainly a little more than _okay._

Take it easy, Max.

"Yeah, but you don't have to, if it's uncomfortable."

Instead of speaking, he left his wing in place, and gradually, I heard his breathing slow as he sank into sleep. He looked calmer now than he had before, as if he'd never had reason to dream of cages and whitecoats and inhumane torture. He looked almost happy.

"Thanks, Fang." I whispered to his sleeping form. "Goodnight."

Day 266

When we had first escaped to the E-House, everyone had started with his or her own rooms. However, given that we had been together for so long and isolation usually meant a new form of torture, this didn't last long. Angel was going to sleep in Jeb's room, still so young, but Nudge quickly adopted her, unwilling to be alone. Gazzy and Iggy formed a truce the first night, though this lasted only about a month because it became too hazardous for two pyromaniacs to inhabit the same room. I swear if you lit a match in there, it would have caused a nuclear explosion. Fang and I, often ending up as refuges for nightmare-ridden children, didn't really encounter the problem of being alone for about a month.

And then it had been terrifying.

As I said, back at the school, the only times we had been taken away from other members of the group were to be tested on. There was always the fear that when they took someone away, that person would never come back. The hours and sometimes days of anticipation were nerve-wracking. The first night I spent without Nudge scrambling into my bed with Angel latched onto her back or Gazzy coming in at insanely late hours to claim he had to "check on me" by falling asleep in the already crowded room had been awful. I had sat up, unable to sleep, or even relax, jumping at every creak in wall or wind gust outside. Around midnight, a knock had come from one wall. One of the first things Jeb had taught us was Morse code, a series of sounds that can be replicated by knocking. Though I had started at first, I soon recognized what my neighbor was tapping.

_Can I come over?_

I distinctly remembering tapping back _yes_, and a few moments later, Fang had come in. He had stood awkwardly in the door for a long time, but then he saw my window and its view of the sky-his was blocked by trees-and all hesitance was gone. This happened on multiple occasions, and we would usually fall asleep sometime between midnight and five in the morning. As we grew older, Jeb voiced his disapproval on a few occasions, but we usually ignored him. Eventually it came that we would be talking or doing something in one of our rooms, and we wouldn't bother leaving when we became tired, conking out where we sat.

This was not unlike those days, although the bed was a bit smaller. Jeb wasn't sure how tall we would grow to be, so we all had pretty sizable ones at the house. When I woke up, Fang was still asleep, his breathing even and calm. His wing was still providing a very welcome source of heat, and I wondered how he could sleep through the sunlight streaming through the window and shining off every icy and snowy surface in the immediate area.

Unlike the old days, though, this time my stomach rolled with guilt. Not only had I abandoned my sister and mother without a word, but I think I had easily just taken another five years off of Fang's life. I knew I worried him, showing up in summer clothes in the middle of winter, not to mention the whole waking him up in the middle of the night thing. Blame our childhood, but the first thing that occurred to us when shaken awake is easily _fight!_ These instincts aren't exactly good for the heart.

And I hated to even _venture _here, but we weren't innocent-or mostly-ten year olds anymore. We were best friends-just best friends-who happened to be of the opposite genders. We had also kissed each other on multiple occasions. In my defense, _I_ only kissed _him_ once, but still, this was going to play hell on my mind for ages. How did I know he wouldn't think that I wanted to be more than friends and that this was just because I had been scared and alone and in need of some flock time?

_Because he's Fang,_ I told myself. _He doesn't delude himself into thinking anything that's not true._

_Well,_ the Voice chimed in. _He _has_ kissed you. Does that mean anything to you?_

I frowned, rolling over and staring out the window, as if maybe I could melt the snow with my eyes. _No. Shut up and go away._

For once, it actually did.

I snuggled a little closer to Fang, thankful to be warm when it was so cold outside. I knew there would definitely be a little more internal debate later, but for now, I was happy.

XXXXX

"I know, mom."

I made a face at Fang as she continued to lecture me on how worried sick she had been, how she had even considered that I was suicidal and that, "_victims of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder-like you-have a very high suicide rate and how did I know you hadn't cracked and were off drowning yourself in some river or cutting your wrists open with a sharp rock in the desert-_"

"Mom," I interrupted, "Please. Be rational. I'm not suicidal."

"You _say_ that, but smart and experienced as you are, Max, I've read stories about people who are rescued from bad… situations and despite people's best efforts, they are already dead inside and-"

Ugh. Iggy was trying not to laugh and mostly failing, his face in his mittens. "_Mom!_ Listen, just breathe and listen. I am not 'dead inside.' If I wanted to be dead, I could have just given up a long time ago and other people would have done the job for me, yes?"

"Maybe," she allowed, and I could tell she was making a serious effort to calm and stop obsessing over my health. I supposed this is what mothers did, but it was still slightly frustrating. "But you sure you okay? You just… bolted. I didn't know what was wrong."

My hand tightened around the portable phone. "I just had a nightmare, mom. I needed to fly."

"I know. I just wish… I wish I could have helped."

I nodded, realized she couldn't see it and muttered, "I know."

I watched Brook as she limped through the snow, distributing different buckets of grain to the various horses. She had little greetings for all of them, and I liked seeing her laugh when they nudged her with their heads or blew hot horse-breath into her face. Insisting she didn't want help, Fang, Iggy, and I leaned against the paddock fence and watched. My hot chocolate was getting cold.

"Does…" mom hesitated. "Being in Montana help?"

I took a deep breath, trying not to be impatient. I loved my mom, even if my recent actions didn't show it, but I was not a fan of the worry. I was the worrier. I hated when other people worried about me. "It's not Montana that helps, mom."

"I know."

I stood upright, taking my weight off the snow-laden fence. "Are you-are you laughing at me?"

"No."

"You so are. What is so funny? Why are you laughing at me?"

"Not at you, Max, never at you. I'm laughing at human nature."

I frowned, noticing that Fang was trying very hard not to listen in on the very audible conversation we were having, and that Iggy was reveling in my confusion. Typical.

"…Right." I said. "Well. I'll be back at some point, okay?"

"Okay. Say 'hi' to the boys for me."

"They can hear you."

She chuckled. "Should I have calmed down a little with the suicide talk, then?"

"I'm sure Iggy will have enough joke material to last, oh, I don't know, until I die. Wait-he'll have some then, too. But it'd be pretty grim joke material at that point."

Iggy snorted, and even Fang twitched his lip a little, but his eyes were trained on Brook as she limped through the deep snow toward the barn door. She rested against it for a moment, and though I couldn't hear it, I could tell it was still hard for her to breathe sometimes. A moment or two later, she hiked up her crutches and propelled herself inside.

"Very funny," she continued. "Just stay safe, okay? I worry."

"I know."

"Ella does, too…" She hinted.

"I don't know what to tell you," I said honestly, taking a gulp of hot chocolate before it could freeze. "I'm sorry. Tell her we all say hi, and that I'm sorry for snapping at her the other day, and that she'll actually have to talk to her teacher if she needs any help in science class for the next twenty-four hours."

By the time Brook had lurched her way across the path Fang and Iggy had shoveled through the snow, I had said my final goodbyes and hung up. She smiled sympathetically.

"Mom troubles?"

It still surprised me how similar her voice was to Fang's, but I just tucked the phone into the pocket of my borrowed winter coat. I took another sip. "Yeah," I said. "Nothing big. She just worries."

The woman adjusted her mittens. "It's a mom thing."

I grimaced. "So I've noticed. I'm a relatively capable person, which she is aware of. It's not like I'm Batman and have an alter ego. She knows that we survived the School, and the Institute, and my driving skills, and Erasers, and psycho scientists, and crazy escapades and dodging guys with Tasers…. Scratch that: I'm a _really_ freaking capable person. I'm like, the queen of capable. And yet she still worries. I mean, nothing personal to Ella, but I don't know how well she'd do with the Tasers or Erasers."

"Shall I deflate your ego for you?" Iggy asked dryly, "Before we head indoors? I don't want you to break the door frame."

I kicked him. "It's true! I _am _a capable person. We all are. I don't know why she worries."

Brook leaned her crutches against the fence and took the thermos Iggy had made for her. She inhaled the chocolatey fumes with a small smile, then lowered herself into the snow. It was deep but fluffy, and her movement sent up the little flurries of flakes that Angel liked to call angel babies. I shivered at the mere sight of her, but she didn't seem to be cold. She leaned backward into it, looking up at the sky. I had never seen a sky as blue as Montana's, even in winter.

"My mother was an incessant worrier," she told us. "About _everything_. Normal things like if I would get sick, the creepers in the neighborhood, if I would fall off a horse and break my neck, but she was so obsessive about it. It took a five-paragraph essay for me to convince her that I could walk to school. The high school was about a mile away, and even then I had to call her before leaving, when I got there, and at the halfway point."

"Ouch," Iggy said, leaning back against the fence and smiling as a cool breeze whirled across the field. Brook laughed.

"It was terribly frustrating, but everyone worries. Even if I don't like when people become extremists, I get where they're coming from."

"Terrorist extremists or worrying extremists?" Iggy asked. "Because, frankly, terrorists are what I think about when I hear 'extremists.'"

Brook laughed again. "Worriers. I'm not a big fan of any type of extremists, though. Everyone worries, though, Max. Moms and dads, or guardians in general, are just especially good at it."

I wondered if she had thrown in the 'guardians' part for my benefit, because although she made no indication towards me, her eyes seemed to glint with something familiar in the sunlight. If she and Fang hadn't been so similar, I probably wouldn't have recognized it, but at that moment, I was sure she was talking about my flock and my paranoid habits surrounding them. And she was right: I _did _worry about them. Was that not the reason I had flown up here? Well, part of it anyway. I had dreamed that Fang had been killed and I couldn't save him and I was alone… so yes, I worried about my flock. It was kind of an all day, every day sort of deal.

And yet, this realization still gave me no patience for Iggy's jokes the rest of the day, asking when I would off myself, if he needed to call anyone for me or if I needed to talk. Now, this isn't something I usually joke about, but given that I spend the majority of my time fighting to stay alive, I'm not about to help the bad guys out and do their job for them.

I wasn't sure what, exactly, the boys usually did all day. I guess basically what I did: read and explored and flew and joked around and ate a lot. That basically constituted the entirety of our day, which I had no problem with. It was easy to forget the terror of last night when Iggy made snickerdoodles and I got to help spoon dough onto the trays while Fang snuck fingerfuls of the cinnamon dough when Iggy's back was turned. Somehow, our blind super-genius knew how much he took anyway and griped about how we would have a whole other tray if Fang and I had laid off.

"She says that cookies are a waste of cookie dough," Fang said when Iggy told him to stop eating.

"Yeah, and I say that I'm not cleaning up your puke when you throw up all night because of the amount of raw egg you've just eaten!"

Fang and I exchanged an if-our-diet-hasn't-killed-us-yet look and grabbed the spatula, where we took turns taking pinches of the dough. Iggy muttered darkly, something about an axe, a rope, a strand of barbed wire, and a chicken coop, but I don't think I heard everything properly.

Later, after dinner, we followed Brook down to the barn so I could officially meet Jane and Mr. Bingley. They were kept inside most of the time, and we had to help 'muck' the stalls (see: clean them) because Brook still wasn't one hundred percent, but considering some of the other stuff we've done, it wasn't actually that bad. She played the piano while we worked, and Jane and Mr. Bingley were quickly becoming converts to the odd barn where horses listened to music and were friends, not servants, to humans. They both had the most enormous eyes-deep brown and soulful like Nudge's, as if they weren't even capable of thinking a mean thought. Their breath was warm, and it smelled like hay. It was surprisingly sweet. I'm not usually one to pay attention to things like that, but it was a comforting place to be, and I realized why Fang wrote about the barn so much. It was cold outside, but inside was warm, thanks to the horses, and their coats made them all into teddy bear dopplegangers. Mr. Bingley had this funny habit of rubbing his forehead on anyone who came too close, and then he would whicker in your face and you would get a noseful of horse breath.

"Queen Elizabeth and Jane are becoming fast friends," Brook told me, abandoning her seat at the piano and limping over to the stall door. I smiled, watching Iggy feed the very thin mare a carrot. He loved the feel of their soft, whiskered noses. Textured things always made him feel better about not being able to see. "But I think she and Mr. Bingley are closest. He's very shy, and she likes to protect him out in the pasture."

Brook caught my eye and we both grinned at that, and called to Fang, standing in the corner and looking out the window.

"Hey," she called, "What's on the agenda for tonight?"

Somehow knowing she was talking to her, he glanced over his shoulder and looked right at me. The ghost of a grin flashed across his face, and he loped over to us.

"We're reading _The Hunger Games_." He told me, smiling ever so slightly. "We started reading _Percy Jackson _down here just because its warm and everyone fits, and its kind of a habit now."

I nodded; taking the book that had appeared in his hands. When had he brought it down? "What's it about?"

"Oh, its excellent," said Brook, sighing with pleasure as she sank into a mound of hay, probably the equivalent of the snow pile but warmer and a little more prickly, but she looked comfortable. "It takes place in the future, when North America has been divided into twelve Districts and the Capitol. The Capitol kind of abuses the people, so seventy-four years ago, the Districts rebelled. The Capitol bombed the now nonexistent District Thirteen and began something called the Hunger Games every year, to keep the Districts in place. Each District has one boy and one girl chosen to fight to the death, with the last one emerging as winner. The whole thing is televised. The main character, Katniss, just volunteered for her little sister, Prim. She's now on the train to the Capitol to undergo training before the Games begin. Katniss is basically the essence of girl power."

I slid a glance at Fang. "Which explains why Fang's reading."

He narrowed his eyes as if to say, _very funny._ Still, despite the teasing, I noticed he flicked a few glances at me as we all settled down into the straw as if worried I actually held him in disdain for reading a book narrated by a girl. What an idiot. Little did he know that I loved hearing him read, his steady, calm voice gliding over each word and illustrating the story in my mind. Only when he stopped did I realize how much time had passed. I lifted my head of his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

"You're stopping there?" I asked. "She's just entered the-"

He cut me off, placing his hand over my mouth and glancing pointedly at Brook and Iggy, who I now realized were sleeping lightly in their hay beds.

"So?" I whispered into his hand, which he pulled away. I lowered my voice. "You can keep reading anyway. Maybe their subconscious minds will absorb it."

He gave me a look that said, quite plainly, _BS._ Okay, new tactic.

"What if you just read to me, and mark the page where they fell asleep, and then you can go back and read to them some other time?"

I didn't mean to smile, but I found myself grinning as I looked up at his mildly amused face. For a moment he didn't speak, and then he just settled back and began to read. I watched his eyes trace the page, still smiling. Even Ella's _Harry Potter_ books couldn't compare to this.


	22. Autoclave

Hello, my dears. I truly am sorry about the delay. You can thank FoReVeR-TwIrLeR for asking if she could come to my funeral if truly I had died. These next two chapters might be a little angsty, but there's a bit of development in the Max/Fang relationship. I would appreciate hearing what you think about it-serious reviews about whether or not you thought, _what on earth was going on there? _ Or _why does she think that?_

Thank you ahead of time. Anyway, I divided this chapter in two because it was very long when I finished writing, but I'll post them both now. Enjoy!

Oh, and has anyone heard the new Taylor Swift song for the Hunger Games movie? "Safe and Sound"? Ahh… I've been murdering the replay button.

XXXXXXX

Day 267

Wordlessly, I shrugged into Fang's extra sweatshirt, allowing him to tug my sleeves down and tie my scarf as I pulled on a borrowed pair of gloves. I felt kind of bad using everything for a quick flight, but Brook said that she didn't need them, and Fang insisted I take them. I think he knew even before I did that I wouldn't be using superspeed to get to Arizona as quickly as I had flown here. Iggy was "watching" us in silence, standing on the edge of the roof, his back to the low winter sun. Fang didn't seem to want to talk, either. His eyes wandered to my bare head, and I could sense the flash of irritation he must have felt at the reminder of a lost argument. Too bad. It was hot in Arizona, I hated hats, I didn't want to take anything else from Brook, and I wasn't _that_ delicate. Montana was pretty freaking cold, and windy to boot, but I wouldn't be staying much longer.

For a moment, we stood appraising each other. His already untidy hair was tossed about by the wind, and I was pretty sure he had grown more, so we certainly had a marginal height difference now. I hardly needed the gloves with such long sleeves. As usual, he was unreadable.

I wondered if he was as unhappy that I was leaving as I was to be doing so. But like me, he didn't say anything about it. He knew and I knew that for one reason or another, I had agreed to this foolhardy plan, and I was following it through. What could we say about it now?

His eyes met mine, and the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. It was more reassuring than anything could have been.

"Hey," he murmured, taking a hesitant step closer. "Come back whenever. We don't have to tell Nudge."

I felt a hand clench around my heart, my throat, making it hard for the words to come. "Yeah."

His jaw tightened. "I'm serious. Bad dreams. Danger. Feel like it. We'll be here."

_I'll be here._

The words were unsaid, not with Iggy so close and doubtlessly even then, but I felt them. I tried to smile. "I know." _I know you'll always be here._ I took a step closer to the edge, a step further from him, my best friend, knowing that if I stayed any longer my eyes would overflow and it would be all over. The wind caught at my feathers, the old friend urging me on, knowing what would happen if I waited.

But Fang, on a sudden impulse I don't think even he predicted, lurched forward and grabbed my hand. He seemed surprised, but then a steely look came over his eyes, and he squeezed it tight.

"One hundred more days, Max." He whispered, his eyes as intense and familiar as ever. Was he trying to make it harder? "It'll be all over soon. I'll send fifty letters a month. I'll bombard your stupid blog account with messages. I'll-"

"Fang?"

It might have been perhaps the one time I had ever interrupted him. Oh, we had arguments, don't get me wrong, but he usually didn't say enough for me to break him off.

For a moment, he was silent, waiting. But what could I say? I knew he would do it. I knew he would send snowballs that would melt on my bed and soak my sheets. _Thank you? _It seemed pretty pitiful for everything he had done for me.

So instead I flung my arms around him and hugged him. And before he could even register what I had done, nearly before I even registered the warmth of my fingers under his wings, his chin fitted just above my head, I launched myself off the roof. I knew he would be watching me fly away, and the thought was so unbearable that I rocketed over the Sierra Mountains before I was able to slow.

Day 270

_Today I walked Ella to school, and on my way back, it started to rain. No thunder or lightning, just spring rain. I think I love the rain. It cut through the heat like one of Iggy's kitchen knives and washed the dirt from my feet and… well, happy-rant aside, I decided to go on a walk/run/fly. I was out all day, and only realized what time it was when I was circling back above town from the desert and realized Ella was walking home alone. I almost landed, but I… I don't even know how to describe it. I was at once very lonely and not in the mood for company. Perhaps it was just her-don't get me wrong, I didn't mean it like that. I just didn't feel like talking to her. _

_ I think I wanted to talk to you._

_ Not that we would have to talk. I would have been just happy flying with you. I think you would love how the desert looks in a rainstorm. The clouds come creeping up, a huge mass, almost an army that just takes over the sky. And the red darkens. You can see each drop hit the sand, the way it changes colors, and everything was just very fresh and wonderful. I think you would love being in one. It's a surprisingly peaceful experience, with the light patter that is so rare in such a region. You would close your eyes-you always do in the rain, which you probably know, but I doubt you noticed that I do-and you smile ever so slightly. I don't think you realize you do that, either. I remember the first time we ever felt rain, at the E House, the eighth day after our escape. It started to rain, and Jeb was reading to Nudge, Ang, and Gaz. We were curious and went outside. I laughed and spread my hands out, as if I could catch them all, but you just tilted your head back and smiled-_

I scribbled my pen across the paper, but so many traitorous words still glared out at me, hinting at things I never even intended to say. Growling, I crumpled up the paper and tossed it away. Not only was I starting to sound like Mr. Henry I-like-nature-so-much-that-it-compels-me-to-write-a-really-boring-book Thoreau, but…

I kicked at the empty air before me, a deep drop to the bottom of the Grand Canyon below. So much for flying to clear the head. It seemed as if I had been everywhere in a hundred mile radius of my mother's house today, just trying to write a letter to my friend. To my best friend, who I missed like an amputee does his legs.

At the last second, I grabbed my discarded paper and stuffed it into my back pocket before hurling myself off the cliff. I let myself fall, hard, feeling the rush of air, registering the fast-approaching rocky bottom, and at the last second, unfurled my wings to catch and carry me upwards in a practiced movement.

It was _maddening_. I kept thinking over what had transpired between us, especially during my last visit. How _dependant _I was on him-and dependant I was! As much as I hated the very idea of relying on someone, even after the amount of time I had spent tossing and turning in the nights since my flight to Montana, I had to admit that I was very clearly not in this alone. I thought about him-not all the time, I refused to admit that-but quite a bit. I imagined what he would say, or more likely, do, in a given situation. I replayed through our last meeting dozens of time, like it was a new song I couldn't stop listening to. I remember the tightness around his eyes when he had looped my scarf around my neck, and the way he had so eagerly handed me his sweatshirt. Fang's sweatshirts were usually completely off-limits, except for me. Was this because of the amount of times I had stolen them, regardless of what he had said or done in retaliation?

I couldn't even…

Ella kept calling him 'Mr. TDH,' often spelling out the entire nickname and asking me if I agreed with it. Mom wouldn't always say anything, but she would often turn away to hide a small, knowing smile that infuriated. She clearly wasn't just laughing at what Ella was saying. Did she know something she wasn't telling me?

I wheeled, just missing the edge of the canyon walls. Fang and I were friends. He was the first person I had ever met who wasn't a whitecoat. He taught me what it meant to rebel against them. He told me how important names could be, names and words, and how wise it was to never use them lightly. He'd had my back since day one, guarding it with the occasional obnoxious comment over his shoulder. And it had been mutual. We went to each other when troubled, scared, angry. We made each other laugh. When there was no one else, not even a flock member, to go to, we're _there_.

I didn't see why mom and Ella had to read so much into it. So we had kissed a few times. Big deal. But it wasn't like they _knew_ that.

The first time, I had started it. Maybe I wouldn't even be thinking about this if it weren't for me. And I could barely think of that day on the beach. We had been so happy, so hopeful… and then Ari had come. Poor, sick, twisted Ari… and then there had been a fight, and Fang's eyes had fluttered shut.

I don't know why I did it. There was a very good chance that Ari could have killed him. But even then-best friends don't kiss best friends just because they're dying. Yes, there was that scene in _The Lord of the Rings_ when Boromir dies and Aragorn kisses his forehead, but that wasn't a romantic kiss, more of a, _I'm sorry we didn't get along in life and I'll try to save your homeland_ promise-kiss. Mine wasn't anything of the sort. All I knew when I looked back on the jumbled, frantic memories of that attack was that I thought Fang, my right wing man, was going to die. For me. Because Ari attacked _me_.

_Fang, you idiotic moron_… I cursed, spinning upward. Trust a boy to drive me crazy.

And that, of course, was when the Voice decided to drop in. Because no time is better for having a psycho voice in your head than when you're wondering about whether or not you have feelings for the boy you grew up with.

_Still mooning?_ It asked, as usual, completely devoid of any definite male or female voice, but still full of amusement.

_You know, sometimes I contemplate driving a stake through my head just so I don't have to hear you anymore._

_ A drastic solution_, it chuckled. _But one that would work nonetheless. Keep in mind, though. You would not hear anything else, either._

_ Do you have any pearls of wisdom to impart? If yes, please get on with it. I _was_ busy._

_Oh? Busy thinking about that special feathered friend of yours?_

So now it was questioning my love life. Or lack thereof.

_Well,_ it continued, unfazed. _Let's make this easy. Did you enjoy kissing him?_

Oh, God, this was worse than talking to Ella about it. _I-no! I didn't! I was terrified for his life! I think that takes precedence!_

The Voice wasn't convinced.

_How about when he kissed you?_

_Go away. Go away now and don't come back._

_Did you?_

_No! Again, I was scared. That's it. End of story, the end, goodbye._

_I'm sensing a common theme here,_ it mused, making me growl.

_What? My irritation with you?_

_No. Your fear._

Fear? How dare it suggest that I, Maximum Ride, was afraid of anything? God knows I was, but A.) I didn't like to be reminded of it, and B.) I didn't like anyone else knowing about these fears. And to suggest that I was afraid of Fang was absurd. Why would I be afraid of my best friend?

_Not _of_ him_, the Voice corrected. _But of what you feel for him, and what he feels for you. You're afraid of what might happen to your friendship. And, of course, what could happen to him…_

What? Where had that come from? And how did the Voice know what Fang was feeling?

_What are you talking about? What does he feel for me?_

But, of course, the Voice fell silent.

I wanted to scream, to tear the obnoxious Voice from my head and shatter it on the dry, sun baked rocks a hundred feet below. What did it know of fear? It was a voice in my head, it didn't even have a body or a brain to process and recognize fear. It didn't know Fang, either. Most likely, it was just trying to make my life more complicated.

And besides. I wasn't afraid of Fang. Or what I may or may not feel for him.

And-even if there was anything I felt that extended beyond friendship, there was no way I could ever act on it.

We were friends, and no matter what Ella might insinuate, that was all we could ever be.

_And that_, I thought determinedly as I extended my wings to glide on an updraft, _is that._


	23. Bubble Toes

Hi everyone! Rewarding your _very_ long wait with chapters that will be posted as soon as I can write them. And you can tell it's 2 AM because I almost wrote, "right them." Oops. Over it. Long weekend.

Thank you all so, so much for reading and reviewing despite my terrible ability to update. I hope you enjoy! Tell me what you think.

XXXXX

Day 275

"I still don't think it's safe for you to be cooking, Max."

I rolled my eyes and grumbled around a mouthful of cookie dough, "I told you, as long as you're not within a hundred-mile radius, you have no say in my being in the kitchen."

Never mind that I was sitting on a stool taking spoonfuls as often as mom and Ella were, but they were actually putting the dough on a cookie tray. Their loss.

Fang snorted, somehow managing to convey all his amusement and disbelief in the one sardonic noise. "Yeah, well, I think you should reconsider. Think of the hundreds of people, if not _thousands_, who do live within a hundred miles. Should anything happen you'd be killing children and puppies and kittens and-"

"Unfortunately, no obnoxious boys with names that start with F and end in –ang," I interrupted, making Ella laugh. Fang was grinning-and I wasn't sure how I could tell-but it brought a smile to my face nonetheless. It was infectious.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and your mom has explosives in the vicinity. Then the second explosion just might reach me."

I could see mom raise her eyebrows with skepticism as she bent down to check on the first tray. The kitchen smelled like heaven.

"Or I could just commission the Igster," I reminded him. "I am a _pro_ cook now. I can stir and measure things now, though they don't let me touch the oven."

"_I_ don't let you touch the oven."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well given that they haven't known me my entire life, I was hoping I could get away with it and earn some trust, but guess not."

"I warned them not to."

"Traitor."

"Hey," he defended, "If it's threatening public security…"

I had to laugh, despite myself and my threat of, "You're so dead."

"In your dreams!" He taunted, but he was laughing too, which was music to my ears. I hadn't spoken to him since my flight a few days before, and I had refused to call until he had. I was pretty sure he was checking on me, making sure I hadn't gone loopy, but I was glad he had done so. "It's not like you even _like_ cooking, anyway."

"Good thing I have Iggy for slave labor, then," I reminded him. "But still, survival skills. How to change a tire. How to tie a tourniquet. How to staunch blood flow. How to deal with snakebites. How to bake chocolate chip cookies. All vitally important to the human existence."

"Max-we will never save the world if you are at the stove."

"Good thing we're not in the twentieth century, then."

"Like you would ever let anyone control what you want to do."

I took a methodic scoop of cookie dough, scraping the remnants of two and a half sticks of butter, three cups of chocolate chips, one cup of brown sugar, and the rest of mom's secret recipe from the silver bowl. "True-"

_"Yo! Fang? Have you really been talking for an hour?"_

Static crackled through the phone with Fang's sigh, and though he held his handset away from his mouth, I could still him call, _"What's it to you?"_

_ "Well, I wouldn't really care, except I was trying to fuse these two wires, and I don't _think_ they're on fire, but something smells really off and-_"

A muttered expletive echoed in my ear, and he sounded slightly frustrated as he said, "Did you hear that?"

I nodded, then remembered. "Yeah. You gotta go?"

"Probably. I'd rather not burn her house down."

I tried not to sigh, and pressed my lips together to keep the question of, "When will I talk to you again?" from being heard. God, I was pathetic.

"See you later," he said, and I heard a bang on his end, and another muttered curse.

"See you," I said quickly. "Stay safe. And give Iggy hell for me."

"Will do."

It was better than just hanging up, but the two words still echoed in my ear as I heard his end cut off.

"Bye." I muttered into the empty phone, before tossing the spoon into the sink. My stomach seemed to roll, protesting the amount of dough I had consumed, but it had never happened before. I had a stomach of steel, able to conquer five McGreaseburgers in a row without so much as a twinge. It had to be something else.

"Max? Are you okay?"

I glanced up at Ella, who had paused in her transferal of the baked cookies to the cooling rack. Her dark brows were pinched in concern, the teasing comments that would have existed after any other conversation with Mr. TDH nonexistent.

"Yeah." I muttered, looking out the window. It was dark, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees with the sun. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Experience should have told me what a stupid question that was to ask. Ella answered it as honestly as I should have expected my blunt and caring sister to.

"Um, maybe because you're always sad after you get off the phone with Fang."

I glanced at mom, but she was purposefully remaining silent, waiting to see where this conversation would go, or if I would end it as I already had so many times before.

"Am not." I muttered, feeling my wings itch as they always did in awkward, uncomfortable situations I would have rather avoided.

Being smarter than the average bug, they did not believe me. Now, I wouldn't have used the word _sad_-but homesick and lonely definitely applied each time I got off the phone with any flock member. Ella took another stool and looked across the countertop at me. Though I pretended not to see her, she was easily reflected in the dark window, as was mom, leaning against the wall behind her.

"It's okay to miss him," she murmured. "I'm sorry if… if I've been teasing you too much. But really. You've been friends for ages, and maybe more than friends-"

"Ella!" I snapped, my previous inner angst breaking in a wave at that one phrase. I spun to glare at her. "Please! We _can't_ be more than friends, and I would appreciate it if we could stop talking about it."

She had jumped, almost as if I were a rabid dog about to lunge, and I sank back into my chair, disappointed in myself and angry and lonely and so tired of having to think about this. I hadn't _meant_ to snap at her-and already I was ashamed of myself. Way to scare her into never talking to me again.

But it seemed she was made of stronger stuff than I had anticipated. "_Can't?"_ She repeated, her voice soft as the wind that graced the corners of the house outside. I could feel her eyes trained on me, but would not look up from my feet to meet her steady eyes. What for? So she could see how much this distressed me, how confused I was?

She was waiting for me to rephrase, to say, "We will not be more than friends," "I don't want to be more than friends," or some combination thereof. It didn't come.

"Max?" Mom murmured. "Max-"

"Yes, that would be my name."

I hadn't meant to sound so snappish, but I could hardly think straight, let alone think about what an obnoxious and ungrateful daughter I was.

And yet, being the awesome woman she was, mom didn't take it personally. Her voice was so gentle as she stepped forward and bent to my level, taking my chin in her hand and raising my head so I could meet her eyes.

"Max? Why did you say that?"

I wanted to look away. I wanted to run away. I wanted to _fly_ away. But she was asking so directly, and the question itself had been keeping me up all night since I had left Fang on his mother's roof-and I was sick of answering it myself. At least this time I might get a better answer. This was my _mom_, and I had never asked her anything she couldn't answer. She had been there for me when my wing had been turned into a piñata, whenever my flock and I had arrived bedraggled and starving at her doorstep, whenever I had needed her.

"Because I _can't_."

I guess being smarter than the average bug didn't run in the family.

"Even if I wanted to. Which I might. I don't know." I rushed on, pulling away from her and tucking my knees to my chest. "I couldn't. I can't."

I felt her hand on my knee, gentle as ever, but I couldn't look up.

"Why not, Max? It isn't me, is it? You're likely fifteen now, and you're a responsible-"

"It isn't you!" I insisted, leaping down from the barstool in one jerky movement and pacing around the small kitchen twice before I was able to whisper, "No. Not you." Not my mother, who had always supported me in everything I did, or my sister, who teasing aside (and wasn't that what sister's did?) was the best human sister a girl could ask for.

"Is it-"

"And it's not Fang, either." I interrupted Ella. Part of me, a voice that wasn't the Voice, told me how insufferable I was being, but I was past caring. "And I don't even know what he thinks about all this. I don't think I want to know."

"Then who is it?" Asked my sister patiently. Did she have an inner therapist? "Why can't you?"

It was too simple, too easy of an answer. To think I had ever believed that I had escaped when in truth, neither I nor any of the flock would ever be free of their endless reach. I was so _stupid_ to think that I might be free. Ever since the Voice's off-hand comment, it had been all I could think of.

"It's the School, Els." I whispered, squinting my eyes shut with the sharp resurgence of memories-pain and panic and fear a permanent presence behind those disinfectant-white walls. "It's the whitecoats. It always was."

She frowned. She didn't get it. Of course she didn't. What would a normal human girl like Ella know about the School and their power? "But you're not at the School anymore."

"Not now," I shook my head, my whisper so hoarse and unfamiliar that I could hardly believe it was my voice. "But it never ends, Ella. They always find us again, always find a new way to target us and hurt us in ways you can't even imagine-"

And that was when her stubborn Martinez streak reappeared, a light flashing behind her eyes as she straightened, arms crossed. "Yeah, like what?" She said, disbelieving. "Try me."

I felt that familiar fist tightening around my heart, my throat, trying to squeeze tears from my eyes.

"Like taking the people you care about, the people you _love_, and hurting them. To get to you." I concentrated fiercely on her familiar brown eyes, clones of mom's, trying to keep the tide back even as my voice broke. "Like torturing them or even killing them before your eyes for information or their own sick pleasure."

It dawned on her then, already, her jaw dropping in horror. But I couldn't stop, just needing to make sure she really knew, so there would be no more jokes or suggestions. I had spent enough hours tossing and turning as I thought about the potential consequences that it wasn't even an option now.

"Ella, you have a fantastic imagination, but you can't even imagine what it's like… when you think your family, your very reason for existence, is going to be killed. And you can do nothing-absolutely _nothing_ to stop it." I was losing control, and the tears were coming now, and I wiped at them furiously even as I tried to reach Ella, tried to make my little sister understand why I _couldn't_.

"They tried it before, before we escaped." I choked. "If one of us misbehaved, if they wanted information from me or were just bored-they would take him and chain him to the wall, and they would place my cage _just out of reach_ so when they whipped him and took knives to his arms and shot him with electricity and beat him to the point of death I couldn't reach him. I tried-I tried so hard! Our hands were _this close_. And sometimes I thought he wouldn't wake up. They would push me closer, and… I-I-I waited up, for hours, holding his limp hand waiting and just prayingto something, anything, that he would get up.

"What would they do, Ella?" I half-sobbed, sliding to the ground, my hands clenched so tightly I felt my nails tear the skin of my palms. I welcomed the pain, the distraction, from the memories. "If they did that when they knew I thought of him as only a friend-what would they do if I ever dared feel anything more? If-and this is all speculation-but what if I loved him? First of all there is no guarantee that he loves me, and then… I can't even think about it. They would use him to get information from me, and I would give it away-I'd _sing _it to them if it meant they wouldn't hurt him. But you know what? The spiteful bastards would kill him anyway."

I buried my head in my knees, knowing they were both watching me now. I could feel the pity rolling off of them in waves-pity I didn't want.

And that was it. I had finally admitted it.

Funny how that emotional outburst was easier than even considering that there was a possibility that Fang and I might like each other in a deeper way than just friends and allies cared about each other. This was just speculation. We were safe if we remained as we were, if there was no more kissing or even thinking about the matter. Unfortunately, it wasn't really a subject I wanted to discuss with Fang.

The Voice was right. I was scared. Scared of what would happen to my best friend if the School should ever believe we cared about each other to such an extent.

And scared about what would happen to us if this kissing business ever escalated.

I didn't know what was scarier. Losing him or losing our friendship.

I suppose losing him, because I would still care about him even if the apocalypse occurred and we hated each other. But I didn't want either. And being anything more than friends led to both options.

Ergo, it wasn't happening.

I sniffed loudly and wiped my streaming nose on my shirt, stumbling to my feet and reaching for a paper towel. They still hadn't said anything.

_I never should have said anything._

"Well." Said Ella, scratching her chin as she watched me. "That stinks."

I blew my nose. Caught her eye. "Thank you, Captain Obvious. Besides…" I tried to salvage what little of my pride that I still managed to cling to. "It's not like I _do_ like him that way, and there's no way he thinks of _me_ that way. Loving each other would be kind of absurd, wouldn't it? I mean, we're just friends. We always have been. And neither of us have time for… anything more."

"I would disagree on one front," said mom calmly; rustling through the cabinets for any hot chocolate I had not yet managed to consume. Comfort drink of the gods.

"Oh, yeah?" I asked. Being leader gave you a lot of practice for losing your crackers then wiping up the crumbs in record time.

"I highly doubt that Fang has never thought of you that way-ah ha!" She pulled the tin down from the upper shelf and smiled as she dug out the kettle. She and Ella rarely had hot chocolate, given how warm it got in Arizona, but I was a Northerner at heart. "Let's just think about it practically. One: he is a teenage boy-"

"_Mom_." I groaned.

"Two: you're a pretty girl, his best friend in the entire world, sharp as a knife, and could probably give him a few bruises if he so desired. From what little I've gathered about Fang, he doesn't like useless people. And he respects you so highly sometimes I wonder that he hasn't built you a shrine."

Now _that_ was a funny idea. "Are you kidding? I thought you guys could hear him on the other end of the phone?"

"_I _was trying not to," said mom, casting a pointed look at smirking Ella. "But you're the leader, yes?"

I nodded.

"And he's your second-in-command, essentially?"

I nodded again.

"Fang doesn't strike me as the type who would let someone lead his family if they did it poorly. And not only does he care about you, but he _trusts _you and _believes_ in you. Before I went into veterinary medicine, I thought I wanted to be a psychologist, and I'll tell you that for someone with PTSD as bad as yours or Fang's to trust someone so completely is a huge step. And when I called him when you were shot out in Horse Creek last year, I swear he nearly had a heart attack."

I shook my head, trying to hide my blush behind my hair. "Mom-this is ridiculous. Even if… even if what you say is true, I just told you why nothing could ever happen between us."

"You already love him," Ella stated, making me jump. I had nearly forgotten her, sitting in the corner of the room and silently watching our exchange. "I don't see the difference."

"I don't-"

"You love your entire flock. And you made it clear when you said why you couldn't love him that you already do-"

My heart was racing, faster than the train that had whisked Fang and me from Wyoming to Montana. "Ella-"

"You said you can't, but I think the whitecoats already know how much you care."

They couldn't. I wouldn't allow it. And anyway, I loved _everyone_ in the flock. That didn't mean it was romantic.

"Have you ever kissed him?" My sister asked, too curious to be legal. Without warning, I felt my face heat, and that was all the response Ella needed. "You _have? _When? So why aren't you dating? Why haven't you told me-"

"It was on a beach-"

"So it was romantic?"

I shot her a dirty look. "And an Eraser had beat him unconscious. I thought he was going to die, and I don't know why he did it. Then he woke up. It was scary and the farthest thing from romantic I've ever experienced."

She looked a little disappointed, but she tried to mask it. Mom turned away, but not before I saw her pinched expression, the way she looked when she was trying not to cry. Ella was too curious for her own good, but perhaps being so detailed with my mother present wasn't quite wise.

"How about Fang?" She continued, hopping off the chair to come fold herself down on the floor next to me. I quirked an eyebrow, guessing but not wanting to give in too easily.

"What about him?"

She huffed, impatient. "Has he ever kissed you?"

I glowered. "I thought I said we weren't going to talk about this."

"He _has?_ When?"

"And we're still debating about whether or not he loves you?" This time, it was mom who was incredulous as she turned, wiping her hands on her apron. She was almost smiling. "Max, I think you're being a little obtuse."

I looked around wildly, as it I would find reason or sanity somewhere in this room, but as expected, it had vacated the premises. "Mom," so I was to be the rational one. This would be good. "We're fourteen. Fifteen, maybe, at this point. Fifteen year olds don't fall in love."

Mom shook her head, coming to sit on the floor so we made a little triangle. She put her hand on my knee, grinning despite her lingering sadness. "Your brain grows older, but love is felt by the heart, Max, which knows no age. Fifteen year olds are just as capable as being in love as eighty year olds. _Has_ he kissed you?"

I buried my head in my hands. "This is ridiculous."

"So he has. How many times?" Ella was practically wordless with happiness. And why? What was it with people obsessing over other people's love lives? She nudged my knee, and I slapped her hand, groaning.

"Alright, alright! Once, okay? It was only once. And it was hardly a kiss. It was more of a… gesture of affection."

Even I could hear how stupid that sounded. And it was a blatant lie. There had definitely been a kiss in the cave before ter Borcht had kidnapped us all.

"And?" She badgered. "What happened next? Did you kiss him back?"

Oh, she would hate me for this. "No. I… I ran away."

She did. I peeked at her between my fingers, noting how mom's eyebrows skyrocketed and Ella's little jaw dropped. "Define 'run away.'"

I took a deep breath. No backing out now. "I… well, I jumped off a cliff. And flew away. Then I showed up again the next morning and we continued our mission. And we didn't talk about it again."

"You didn't."

"You gossip more than old women," I muttered, examining my dirt packed fingernails. How had I gotten into this situation?

"He's totally in love with you."

The awe in Ella's voice had me look up, and she was smiling so gently it was hard to be exasperated. I still managed.

"How?" I rolled my eyes. "If anything that slick move convinced him to feel exactly the opposite."

"Oh, he's just biding his time." She assured me. "Or maybe he's not sure of himself yet. But Max-he hikes out to the middle of nowhere to be with you. He talks to you for hours when he hardly speaks a word to anyone else. And you should see the way he smiles whenever you say something-"

"Hold it." I interrupted, putting my hands up as if it would somehow stop the sea of raging gossip. "He does _not _smile with everything I say. Half the time he tells me I'm bat crazy."

Mom and Ella exchanged a knowing little look, one that simultaneously had me blushing and furious at the same time. _"What?"_

"You're just a little blind, sweetie." Said mom, getting to her feet to check the boiling water. I glared at Ella as she laughed, then at the hot chocolate as mom handed it down to me.

"Either way," I insisted into the ambrosia. "It doesn't matter. I thought we agreed that I wasn't going to risk anything with him because of what I previously mentioned?"

"Fang is a pretty daring boy," mom said, a wise old owl glint in her eyes. "I'm sure he'll have something to say about that."

Ella giggled.


	24. Go Your Own Way

**Hi everyone! Thank you for waiting so long for the next update. I'm sorry that I can't respond individually right now-I need to get some work down but I wanted to get this chapter up for you guys. I just finished it. I was unsatisfied with the conversation Max and Fang have later via Fang's blog, and I'm still not quite sure how I feel about it, so feedback would be excellent. **

_**Seventy-four days!**_

**Anyway, even though I can't thank you all personally at this time (though I'll try to send out some PM's later), I just want to give a huge shout out to everyone who reads _Letters_, new and old, big fans and "eh, I've got nothing else to do" fans. Reviews are always appreciated, but I'm just so glad you're here with me at day 280.**

**I'll try to update before the 8th of March. I'm going away until the 24th, and I have to do all the schoolwork I'm missing hopefully before then (though not complaining, just letting you all know) so I'm not sure when the next update will come, but keep a whether eye on the horizon.**

**Thanks again, friends!**

Day 280

"Hey, Brook?"

"Hey, Iggy? Down, Mr. Darcy-no, _down_. No soup for you. Not if you want to sleep on my bed."

The dog whined, fairly reminiscent of Total, but Fang appreciated that Mr. Darcy just tried to look pitiable and hungry rather than compose a sonnet about those feelings. His tail thumped against the floor, and muttering, she dropped a spoonful of chili onto the tile floor.

Fang blew on his own chili, almost smiling as he watched the dog and woman interact. Talking to a voice in your head made you crazy (_Max_, he thought, grinning) but talking to a dog was perfectly acceptable, it would seem. She didn't talk a lot, but he had heard entire conversations held between she and Mr. Darcy.

Iggy kicked his long legs up on the spare chair, licking the remains of chili off his spoon before asking, "Why do you say 'stars' instead of 'God'?"

Fang paused in the scraping of his own bowl. He had noticed this, but though it was a little unheard of, he had definitely seen and heard stranger things in his short lifetime for it to keep him up at night.

A corner of Brook's mouth lifted up into a crooked smile. "You sure you really want to talk religion with me, Iggy? They say religion and politics are never discussed in polite dinner conversation."

"Well, given that your dog is practically eating out of your bowl," Fang pointed out, smirking, "I don't know if 'polite dinner conversation' exactly applies to us."

Both of them laughed at that, and Mr. Darcy added his barks to the chorus, happy that his people were happy. Fang was starting to see the appeal of Sirius and Darcy-he might just trade them for Total any day, if both dogs didn't weigh significantly more. If they had to carry a dog around with them, it would have to be one he could carry when Angel finally gave up at the end of the day.

"If you're really interested," Brook admitted, ruffling Darcy's shaggy black fur. "I… my parents were both Episcopalian. Nothing serious, but we went to church every Sunday, didn't take the Lord's name in vain, said the occasional prayer at dinner… but I never really connected with God. Now-I'm not saying He's real or isn't real-and I'm not siding with anyone. But I talked to people at church sometimes, and their faith, well… it was pretty powerful. There was one woman," she rushed on, still looking at Mr. Darcy, almost as if she were afraid to admit to whatever her opinions, but enlivened all the same.

"And she once told me about how God saved her. First from her addictions, and from then on she heard His voice, guiding her, supporting her. Then she said that one day she felt God was telling her to stay home. Even though she had plans to go run some errands, she did some yard work instead. Later when she was watching the news, she saw that there had been a terrible accident on the highway. Many people died or were hurt, and she was convinced she would have been in the same accident had it not been for God's voice telling her not to go."

Iggy raised his eyebrows, but he was still listening intently. Brook's eyes darted up just for a moment to gauge their reactions, and Fang was sure to meet them. For some reason, perhaps because of her upbringing, religious preferences really seemed to matter to her. But maybe due to his-Fang had never really cared. There had always been bigger things to worry about personally-and for everyone else? As long as there was no violence he could care less who was Catholic or Muslim or Jewish or animist or anything else.

For a moment, she was silent, and Fang bit his lip. It was uncanny, how similar they looked, and despite his rare use of mirrors, it was still obvious that they were related. Something he still had trouble thinking about.

"I never had that connection," she confided. "For whatever reason. Maybe I was too doubtful, too much of a realist. Maybe because it irritated me that God was male, or everything the Church has done over the years. But I remember-I must have been in fourth grade when I started them-I read this book series about these people that lived in the wild… they lived in clans and went on such grand adventures. And instead of a nameless God who seemed to exist only hundreds of years ago, they worshipped the stars. They believed that when their loved ones, friends, ancestors died, they would enter the sky above, shining on as eternal lights to guide and protect and comfort and just… _be with,_ I guess. Especially after… after Robin… when I moved out here… I remembered that story and I didn't feel so alone."

She was still staring at him, her soulful eyes clearly expressing all the pain that had come with her childhood, with _his_ death-something she had barely even mentioned and yet still managed to break her voice-and the transition from The Big City to The Middle of Nowhere.

She had always skirted over it, Fang realized, but she had intended to move out to Montana with Robin. They were going to go on their _own_ grand adventures, drawing and playing music and riding horses into the sunset. And he supposed she had moved even after his death because that dream was all she had left. Robin was gone, _I was gone_, Fang realized. The baby that could have been a curse but they still both managed to see as a good omen…

Montana was all there was. Montana, that grand piano, and the dream of horses. Oh, she had clearly proved any doubters wrong. She had not only eked a living out of the hills and mountains and woods, but she had also started her own businesses, teaching kids how to do what she loved. It couldn't have been easy, not knowing anyone, no college education, hardly a dollar in her pocket, and yet she had pushed on.

He had known it for a long time, but Fang was abruptly stuck with how fierce and tenacious the tiny woman sitting across the table from him was. How very much like Max.

"I can believe that," he murmured, half-surprising himself with vocalizing his thoughts on the matter, but something about speaking to those familiar eyes felt _right_. "Religion's never been big with us, but that… it makes sense."

Fang bit his lip.

He wanted to tell her how much he had always loved the stars. He wanted to tell her how, on the first night of their freedom, when he had caught his first glimpse of the pinpricks of light, he had rushed to Max's room and grabbed her hand and taken her to the window. Then, when they had learned what this mysterious Outside was, they would sneak out onto the roof at night. He remembered counting the stars, making wishes on ones that fell (she vocally, but he never told her that everything he could wish for had already happened), and making up stories for the pictures they saw. The bird children, the whitecoats, and the other animals… he distinctly remembered a horse being in there somewhere, too.

He wanted to tell her how after he had broken the flock, he would spend all night staring up at them, wondering if Max remembered the stories, if she was seeing the same stars.

He wanted to tell her how glorious it was, to fly with the stars in your feathers.

But how could you say all that? As powerful as words were, Fang was tongue-tied at the thought of trying to capture them in just the right was so as to completely express everything the stars had been for him. That was the frustrating beauty of words-they could describe something perfectly, if used correctly. It was figuring out how to do it that was the maddening part. Max had always had a gift with words, proving you didn't need an SAT vocabulary to make a point. He supposed it wasn't the word, but the way you strung them together that mattered. And there were a million words to describe Max-but none of them captured her completely. Granted, Max wasn't really the type of person to be "captured."

There were so many words-and no way to describe how he felt.

In this situation, Max would usually just reel off some BS that would sound really good, even though she'd just come up with it on the spot. She was a word _queen_.

Fang? Not so much.

Besides, Iggy was there, and he hardly needed any more fuel to add to the "Let's shove Max and Fang in a closet and see what happens!" fire. And the things he had already said to her sounded so fake now that they were heard.

"Think about it anyway," said Iggy, scrubbing the empty chili pot in the sink. "Saying 'Oh my God' has become almost… like, pop-culture. Just about everyone says it, but not everyone attends church or says prayers or anything. 'Stars' is more original. Unless you're a demigod and say 'Oh my gods,' which I actually _have _heard on more than one occasion-Fang, don't you dare try to leave this room without helping with the dishes."

Fang rolled his eyes, tempted to dump his bowl on Iggy's fair head, but as usual, Iggy's dinners were delicious and there was nothing left.

"Wasn't going to," he defended, grabbing a dishtowel to dry as Iggy worked through the dishes like a madman.

"Psh. Isn't it too cold to fly anyway?"

Fang felt himself smiling. "Never."

Day 282

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **so I still have no idea as to why you were asking about my books…

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: well, you write _books_. I thought the whole process sort of came with questions from us mere mortals.

Day 283

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** your question was very general and you never ask meaningless questions or ones you can figure out on your own.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**:your point?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** I'm just asking if you had anything in particular you were curious about. And why you asked in the first place.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: do you put our letters in?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** do you want our letters in?

Day 284

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: I haven't read your books; I don't know what goes in them.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **everything "goes" in them. They're proof of what's happened to us, in case we ever need it.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: so you're writing about the separation anyway?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** yes, minus the major details like where our parents live. Sometimes I change names, but not unless absolutely necessary.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: I think it would make sense to have them in there.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** I didn't ask if it would make sense. I asked if you wanted them to be in it.

Day 285

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: yeah. I think I do.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** you do?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: mhm. If only so your readers can appreciate my stunning wit.

Day 286

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** hardy har. You're so amusing. Maybe I should just print up this conversation and add it in there, too.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: do I get to edit my earlier comments?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** is it possible to send someone a punch via email? Or possibly a knuckle sandwich?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: I thought even you knew the answer to that question, O Brilliant One.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** why again am I friends with you?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: ask your readers, I'm sure they have plenty of answers as to how much you love me.

Day 291

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** I'm sure they do.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: wanna be any slower next time?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** if you have a problem with my ability to check on your stupid blog, you should just call me.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: I don't-I'm just-do you have any idea how frustrating you are?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** did you just stutter online?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: I was expressing my disbelief at your extreme ignorance.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** oh, MY extreme ignorance? Mom! Hey, mom! Fang is cyber bullying me! If you're worried about someone, logic tells you that the first thing to do is call them, not wait for them to respond to a blog post.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: maybe I didn't call because I thought that you might possibly just be doing something completely normal and didn't want to bother you, Serene Highness. Next time I'll remember to consult your laws before doing anything.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** your calls never bother me, idiot.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang: **unless of course you were to call right now, then I would be bothered. I might just yell so loud that farmers in India could hear me.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: are we really having a fight on my blog?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr** to **Fang:** I can go anonymous if it would make you feel better.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr**: you're unbelievable.

"Max?"

"What?" I snapped, staring at my bedroom door as if it had personally offended me. Trust Fang to be completely insufferable. Over the Internet.

"Um," Ella rapped lightly on the wood, a sound almost as soft as her voice. "Telephone. It's Fang. He sounds irritated, too. Are you having a telepathic argument?"

I leaped off the bed and wrenched the door open, grabbing the phone from my little sister with perhaps excessive force. She tottered, but righted herself on the wall and managed to wiggle her eyebrows at me before I slammed the door shut.

"What the hell do you want?" I hissed into the phone, wondering if perhaps I could hang up on him without serious consequences. Flying was looking really good right now.

"Hmm, I don't know, maybe to _call_ you," Fang was equally irritated, and though he rarely shouted, each syllable rang with anger. I had always been able to outshout him. Something I prided. "Given that you seem so damn insistent."

"Says the one who freaked out because I didn't respond to his stupid little wall post within a day."

"I didn't 'freak out' because of that," he snarled. "I-"

"Well? What was it then?"

"You took it _completely_ the wrong way!"

"Yeah, see, that's the thing with computers. You actually have to be sure that you're expressing _feeling_, rather than just typing words that can be interpreted every which way!"

His voice raised a few decibels. "You are-God, Max, you're incredible, that's what you are. It's amazing how you can argue and be so hypocritical at the same time-"

"Excuse me? I-"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you heard me.

"I can't believe you have the gall to be so obnoxious, then _call_ me to be even more irritating!" I snarled, pacing from the door to the window and back again at lightning speed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he hissed, voice loaded with false sincerity. "I was under the impression that my calls _never_ bothered me. Clearly, I was mistaken-"

"And you will note that right under that I wrote 'except for right now' because you're being so goddamn frustrating!"

For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the phone, and ready to fly up and kill him myself if it was true, I hissed: "Did you hang up on me?"

His voice was a moment in coming, but it was there, tense and quiet, as he spat, "No, I'm trying to be rational."

"Oh? And how's that working for you?"

"It's immensely difficult, actually."

His honesty startled me into a laugh, something I tried very hard to hide. To my relief, Fang didn't comment on it, though when he spoke again, he sounded much less angry than he had before.

"Can we start over?"

"_What?"_

"Have you gone deaf? And I'm actually inflecting emotion into that comment so you can be sure I don't mean it and am asking again if we can just pretend that didn't just happen."

I sank onto my bed, looking at his pictures that I had taped to the headboard. "But it did."

"My Athena rationale has decided that it only did because of a few comments that were read entirely the wrong way-on both sides-and that if we had spoken in person it wouldn't have happened. Idealistically we would just talk in person, ergo, no fight."

I glanced back at Ella's laptop screen, biting my lip. My heart was still racing, likely due to my infallible ability to get involved with any fight in a ten-mile perimeter. Call it my childhood, call it my stubborn, obnoxious tendencies, call it my astrological birth sign, but fight-or-flight had never been much of an option for me. Well, not literally, thanks to the wings, but I'd always hated backing down from an argument. I blamed the amount of them I had lost back at the School.

Still…

"I suppose if it's Athena rationale…"

"Excellent."

Now my cheeks were hot, and perhaps for a reason other than anger. I shut the screen.

"So…"

"Max, can I ask you something?"

I felt the corner of my mouth twitch, but it felt wrong to smile so soon after an argument with Fang. "You just did."

I could nearly hear him rolling his eyes. "You know what I mean. Would you do something for me?"

"Depends on what it is."

He knew that was likely the best answer he was going to get. "We have seventy four days left. Will you try very hard to not get yourself killed in the final stretch? And let me know?"

The words replayed again in my head, the question, the meaning behind it. Unwillingly, memories of my conversation with Ella and mom about _us_ came to my mind, though I tried to brush them away as quickly as possible.

We sure had a fantastic ability to get into really stupid fights. I wondered if mom and Ella knew that. Did that still make Fang and I qualified for this whole romance business?

Not that I was suggesting it.

"Look," and only with the tinge of anxiety in Fang's voice did I realize I had yet to speak. We wouldn't need to, if we were in person and were for some reason still having this discussion. "You don't have to call if you don't want to. I just… people always get sloppy when they think they're almost safe. I don't-"

"I thought I told you your calls never bother me."

He recovered remarkably quickly. "Yeah, but then you went on about farmers in Pakistan or something and-"

"It was India. And I will on one condition."

There was a smile in his voice as he assured, "I will, too."

I laughed a little. "We're such mature demigods. Able to resolve stupid arguments so quickly. The gods sure aren't as capable."

He snorted. "Yeah, but we also got into the stupid argument in the first place."

"Only on the Internet." I assured him. "And besides, seventy-four, right? We'll be face to face relatively soon."

"Not that that keeps us from fighting."

And then I had to laugh. Oh, Fang and I knew how to fight, but we were also pretty good at making up afterwards. Likely thinking the same thing, we laughed together for the longest time.

God, I missed him.


	25. This Is Why We Fight

**Author's Note:**

Guess who hasn't died. Here we have it: the penultimate chapter. The next one will be up by tomorrow. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a knife into my eye.

There will also be a chapter of notes, music, and replies to reviews. That will be listed as the "final" chapter, but the story ends with the next chapter.

Thank you for the incredible amount of support you've shown, despite my irregular updates and practical hiatus. This took far longer than it should have to finish. These last words are for you.

Fly on, dear hearts. -Ivy

_Day 300_

_Guess what I decided to watch today?_

_ I'll give you three hints:_

_ -it relates to the number of days spent_

_ -it involves Gerard Butler running around with a cape and not much else_

_ -"THIS IS SPARTA!"_

_ I'm quite sure everyone knows that quote even if they haven't seen the movie. 300, in case you're feeling slow today. I mean it was an awful movie but I liked it anyway. You know the type. Don't know how historically accurate, especially given the creatures in Xerxes' (hint, Bad Guy #1) army, but I'm over it. Granted, I'm pretty sure I've seen some of those monsters at the School-but this isn't the twenty-first century. Anyway it was entirely ridiculous and I had to tell Ella that no, blood does not look that… theatrical in real life. Also I'm really tired of action movies with like two women. Obviously Ancient Greece had more than one woman because (contrary to Hollywood's belief) we do actually make up half the population and the future would be screwed without us._

_ I think I'll add that to the Saving the World List: Gender and Race Equality in Films. One thing I will miss, once we're on the run again, is the ability to watch movies, though. I love movies. I just want more women who are as badass as I am, you know how it is._

_ Hope you're well. Not much to report, unless you count the motorcycle gang that Ella and I joined this weekend. Mom got me a Harley._

_ -Max_

_ (SIXTY FIVE MORE DAYS!)_

Day 305

I stared at the webpage, phone pressed between my shoulder and ear as I scanned the information Fang had dug up. Apparently Mr. TDH was getting pretty good at wiggling his way into websites he wasn't supposed to have access to. I wasn't complaining.

"I mean it's just the start," he said, "But I've been trying to research. _Know your enemy_ and all that."

"Headquarters in Boston, Chicago, Minneapolis, Omaha, Miami, and San Francisco." I summarized. That was the United States alone. Like heads on a hydra, the more we learned about Itex, the bigger it grew.

"Where's Omaha again?"

"Nebraska."

"Right."

There was a tense silence as I scanned the rest of the information. He had de-crypted it for me, paraphrased notes from his own virtual spelunking.

"Iggy suggested rallying the blog readers," he admitted. "Using all the help we can get."

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. "Itex has destroyed enough children without us using a bunch of kids to do the dirty work. I don't want an army of kids fighting for us."

I hung on his silence, clenching and unclenching my fists. Fang had always been the blog's number one advocate. He took it as seriously as I took chocolate chip cookies. The spread of information, he said, should never be limited. We had a responsibility to share the truth, even if our audience was largely our age or younger. He believed in the power of their voices. Did he believe in the power of their violence?

"Neither do I."

In the moment it took me to absorb this, I realized I could breathe again. It had been stupid. Of course he wouldn't want anything like that. We had enough going on without reenacting _Lord of the Flies._

"I've been thinking," he continued.

"Scary thought."

"Charming. Yeah, thinking. Have you seen the _Batman_ movie?"

While I could place the face, I didn't think I'd ever made it through a whole film about the caped crusader. "No. Maybe a cartoon or two. He's kind of boring, as far as superheroes go. Got enough angst in my own life without his whining."

"True, but not what I was thinking." I could hear keys clicking madly on his end. Maybe more research, maybe a blog post, who knew? "The point is that when Batman confronts the Joker, the Joker knows that people can rally behind a martyr. He doesn't just want to kill Batman. He wants to destroy him."

"Gotcha. Destruction over death." I nodded, pushing Ella's rolley chair away from her desk. "This is a metaphor, right?"

"Yeah. He does it by forcing Batman to make mistakes, to look back. To ruin him. To make sure there's not a kid left in Gotham who believes in this dude running around in black spandex."

Sounded dark for a comic book movie. "So we're the villains."

"No," he said shortly. "Bad metaphor. It's easier for us-we don't have to do anything to make Itex look bad. They've done that to themselves. We just have to expose it. The masses will ruin them from there. No violence, no death. Just complete and utter destruction."

While I wondered how long he had been researching, and whether or not he was actually living while up in Montana (sort of the point of the whole experiment), I had to admit, his words had strength.

"Okay. Complete and utter destruction. I can get behind that."

"Itex has their fingers in a lot of pies," the typing sound continued, sharp as gunfire. "Everything from soap to clothes to soybeans. Child labor. Slavery. Arms dealing on the black market. Drug rings and sex trafficking. Money for the sake of money for the sake of their twisted sci-fi future."

I had seen the pictures he had sent along, as if I needed the reminder of the kind of hopeless, experimental lifeforms that populated my childhood. Itex wanted superraces. It wanted immunity to diseases, flight, speed, strength, the ability to harvest oxygen from the water. Anything and everything to perfect our species and create a brighter future.

They even had a cheerful slogan. _For A Better, Brighter Future._

"You know in _Harry Potter_, when Dumbledore talks about doing things for the 'greater good'?" I reminded him, spinning in my chair. He _hmm_ed an affirmative.

"I just think that whenever people start tossing around things like 'the greater good,' 'the benefit of the many,'-"

"'A Better, Brighter Future.'" He added.

"Yeah." I swallowed. "It never ends well, does it?"

Day 310

"That's right, Christina. You have to look to where you want to go. When you look somewhere, your whole body pivots in that direction. Your head is pointed to the left, so your shoulders twist to the left and your hips follow. Your entire body is a signal for Queen Elizabeth. Theoretically, a good equestrian riding a well-trained horse doesn't even need a pair of reins. Chin up, heels down, eyes forward, and _look_."

Fang would say it's magic, the way the reins were motionless against Elizabeth's neck, and yet the great horse smoothly turned left, her steady trot a two-beat pattern that never faltered. Brook smiled at her student, Christina, from across the ring. Fang had never put much thought into horses and riding before-never had much cause-but he learned as he watched Brook and brown-eyed Elizabeth and never had he felt more respect for the people who had traveled the world on these creatures, before cars or wings became readily available. Brook liked to say that the nation was built on the backs of horses. Fang was beginning to agree.

He liked watching the lessons. Now that the weather was marginally warmer, Fang didn't feel so cooped up. Montana could be brutal in the winter and Fang had gone stir-crazy a few too many times this past one. Once the electricity had gone out for a week and Fang finally "snowshoed" into town to borrow a phone just to let Max know they weren't wiped off the map. Now that it was a bit warmer, though still slushy and springy, Fang found himself outside more often. He also found that he didn't mind so much, sticking close to hom-

He didn't mind sticking close to the ranch.

Queen Elizabeth was aptly named. Brook had a bit of a gift for naming. The "mare" (see: female horse) was tall and proud, and she had a way of moving that was part of the reason Fang had frozen his butt off sitting on the barn roof for forty-five minutes. Surefooted, erect and proud, he doubted Montana's fiercest winds could blow that girl over. She also had brown eyes.

Christine drove off thirty minutes later. Fang felt was sure he had frozen to the roof in the time it took for her and Brook to untack, clean Elizabeth up, and feed all the horses. At this point, Fang had to repress his impatience. He usually helped Brook feed her multitude of animals. He always carried the light stuff because she wouldn't let anyone else pull around the heavy weight. After, she often played her piano and Fang would pat the horses. Angel would probably revel in their soft noses, Nudge in their eyes.

Fang glared at the minivan as it drove off and as Brook pulled the barn doors closed behind her, Fang slid off the roof. He realized it might have been a bad idea as he registered the human-sized icicles ready to impale any stationary figure below. At the last moment, he swept his wings outward. They caught the glorious air and allowed him to land more softly than he had originally intended.

Unfortunately, most of the ground was still ice and snow. Even as Brook whirled around, Fang's feet kicked up beneath him.

_Shit_. And then he slammed down on the frozen earth. For the first time ever, he found himself wishing he had a lower metabolism and ate more junk food, because some extra padding over his bones might have been appreciated.

"Fang?"

She still seemed startled-had she not been aware he was on the roof?-and crouched down in front of him. Fang grit his teeth, mortified, but hell if he was going to show it. He watched her familiar features, her face turning from him to the roof and back again, and that was when she allowed herself a small smile.

"You good?" She asked, crouching down beside him. Fang scrambled upright-what was she doing? Her leg was still healing, even months after the accident. She'd gotten to the point where she could walk, but the muscles were still recuperating and the bone was still weak and she shouldn't be walking as much as she was, let alone sitting down in the snow beside him-

It was useless. Healing tibia or not, there she was, sitting in the snow and ice next to him, snow on her mittens and knees and the top of her hat. Though still embarrassed to have fallen in front of her, it was easier once she was on the ground, too.

"You just jumped down from the roof?"

Fang looked up and debated death by icicle. "Yep."

Brook made a very inelegant sound in the back of her throat. When he looked at her, he realized she had been trying to swallow a laugh. He rolled his eyes.

"I have _wings_. I wasn't going to hurt myself."

She was making an extraordinary effort to repress a grin. "Clearly."

Day 311

** QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** Hey, Fang! Why did the ghost cross the road?

Day 312

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** I don't know.

Day 313

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** C'mon, humor me!

Day 314

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** I don't know-because he wanted to?

Day 315

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** You are so bad at this.

Day 316

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** This better be a really good joke for me to have waited five days.

Day 317

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** It is. Just to refresh your memory: why did the ghost cross the road?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **No idea.

Day 318

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** To get to the other side!

Day 320

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **You're joking.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** Oh, clever you! Yes. Get it? To get to the _other_ side. Ella told it to me.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **Screw you and Ella's bad jokes.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** You're cracking up, you just won't tell me.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **Want to hear a bird joke?

Day 321

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** You mean like our lives?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **You're supposed to say no.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** No, I don't want to hear a bird joke. I have a feeling this is going to be worse than mine.

Day 323

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** That would be a pretty difficult achievement. Now-do you want to hear a bird joke?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** No.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** Oh… that's hawkward.

Day 324

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** That was-without a doubt-the worst joke I've ever heard in my entire life. Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** He's still here, just seriously affected by the six cups of coffee he had this morning after helping Brook with one of the horses for the past few nights.

Day 325

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** Oh, who? What happened?

Day 326

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** Accident in the pasture-Jane slipped on some mud and broke a leg. Evidentially that's pretty bad for horses, hard to heal, but of course Brook's not giving up. It's actually kind of nice-not that J is injured-but because Crazy and Queen E stay inside most of the time, as if they're keeping an eye on her. How're things in the land of the sun?

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** SP, so hot. Why anyone would decide to live in a desert when there are so many sandy beaches to enjoy is beyond me. Does Brook need any help? I could come up.

Day 327

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **I think we've got it. Almost there, Max.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** Don't patronize me. I know.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **You know what I mean.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** I am perfectly fine. I pick up the kids from the airport in 37 days, then we fly up to meet you guys. Is that still okay, with Jane being hurt and all?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **Brook may be a lot of things, but she hates going back on her word. That and she loves kids. Jane is doing as well as a horse with a broken leg can. She's suspended from this thing that the vet hooked up in her stall-I would kill myself if I were ever strung up like that. But I think she's dosed up on so many painkillers that she hardly notices.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** How's Brook?

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **She would hate to know we're talking about her, honestly. Fine though. Worried. Really tired, from the looks of it. Spends a lot of time in the barn. Sometimes we bring her coffee and she helps Iggy with the piano.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** How's that going, for him?

Day 328

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **I think he's going to miss it. Not that I'm an expert, but he sounds really good.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** Ella has a piano. And obviously Brook has a few. We can stop at mom's whenever there's a chance.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr:** I bet he would like that.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** Would Brook want you to come visit?

Day 329

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **She would.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** Sorry-we don't have to talk about this here.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **I'm fine, Max.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** You're also a very good liar and a long-suffering little rat.

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **Thanks.

**QT_PI_fang_luvr **to **Fang:** If you ever want to stop back, all you have to do is say the word and hope we're not intercepted by the latest in Evil Guy Technology.

Day 330

**Fang** to **QT_PI_fang_luvr: **How's Ella?

Day 331

_Nice change of topic, Fang,_ I grumped, staring at the computer screen. Fang certainly was an expert in both avoiding something he didn't want to talk about and driving me nuts. Maybe it hadn't been prudent to ask him about his mom over the very unreliable Internet, but I hardly had much else of a choice, did I? Letters, phone calls, all easily intercepted.

I probably should have just let it lie until I could talk to him face to face. He could barely talk about Brook then, let alone with the detached chat program on his blog. Still, it hadn't flown by me-all the times he mentioned her, the stories he told me about life on her ranch-that Fang was happy with her. They were a family.

And hell, I knew the flock was his family, too. But he would have to choose.

Nauseous and angry, I cursed Nudge's stupid idea. It wasn't just Fang who had come to like his new home. I doubted the younger three were up for dumpster dives after homemade meals for a solid year.

Whatever happened, my family was going to be hurt. I could hardly stand for it.

Regardless, the decision was already made. Little over a month and we'd all be back together again, good as new. Just with a few contacts in other states.

I hadn't yet broken it to the younger kids that it would be dangerous to visit Nudge's mom. Maybe Nudge would understand, but I doubted Gazzy and Angel would see that each time we visited, we ran a greater risk of hurting her.

_Like you visit your mom and sister? _The snide part of my mind whispered. I grumbled, slapping the computer shut as if that could erase my problems. I smelled chocolate-chip cookies baking and Ella was preparing for a lacrosse game. Bigger fish to fry.

"Better still be some dough left for me!" I yelled, already racing for the stairs. Ella, the little rascal, merely laughed.

_Day 332_

_2:07_

_ 2:08_

_ 2:10_

It was a full half hour later before I managed to pull myself together. My sheets were everywhere, soaked in sweat. I wasn't sure if I had woken up crying or if consciousness cued the waterworks, but either way my pillow had formed puddles. It was only thanks to fifteen years of fear that I managed to stay silent. All the same, my throat was raw and I was still gasping for air.

_Angel. Gasman._

I shuddered.

_Nudge. Iggy._

I crumpled.

_Fang._

I didn't hear Magnolia at the door until she started to bark. I was gasping for air, constricted with pain and crippling, paralytic fear.

Someone knocked at the door. I shook my head. _Go away. Go away. Go away._ I didn't need to hurt anyone else. Least of all my family.

"Max? Max, sweetie, are you all right in there?"

I didn't reply, couldn't, five names stuck in my throat. Mom threw the door open, bathing my room in the light of the hall. In a moment she had me in her arms and she was so warm. There was caring in her eyes and a fullness in her heart that had me leaning into her, just hoping, just for a minute, that someone else could be the adult for a little while.

"Max, sweetie, what's the matter?" She crooned into my ear. I curled into her, wishing I could speak, wishing I knew what to do. I didn't think she could solve my problems, but for a moment, her hand rubbing circles on my back made me feel as if she could. That's what moms do, isn't it? Save the world.

"Should I call F-"

"No. Don't call him. Don't call him. Please, please don't call him."

"Shh, it's all right, dear."

I don't know how long we sat there on that bed. I burrowed into my mom, tucked my head under her chin, let her absorb everything until the shaking subsided and I could breathe again. It was still dark outside when I managed to look up.

"Do you want to talk, dear?" She asked me, running her fingers through my hair. "A bad dream?"

I nodded. Maybe I could pull myself together.

"The flock?"

Maybe not.

"They were safe." I choked out. "They were happy. And I was making them leave. I _am_ making them leave. I can't-what am I supposed to do, mom?"

_Day 333_

"Wait, hold up!" Iggy practically jumped to his feet, outraged at what he was sure must have been a blip in the speakers. Fang rolled his eyes. Trust Iggy to get more involved in a Shakespearean film than any of them expected.

The picture of calm, Brook paused the DVD. Christian Bale looked more than a little ridiculous, frozen halfway through his passionate rhetorics.

"What's the matter, Iggy?"

"So there's a double marriage going on? Hermia and Lysander, and Demetrius and Helena?"

Fang could barely keep all the strange (and unfortunately similar) names apart, but he believed Iggy was correct. Brook confirmed for him.

"Okay." He said slowly. "And Hermia and Lysander loved each other in the beginning, right?"

"They were running away together," Fang said. "I think that's obvious, at least."

Iggy sent a withering look in his general direction, and Brook caught Fang's eye, almost smiling.

"Thank you, Fang. Not that anyone would take relationship advice from someone as emotionally constipated as you."

Fang rolled his eyes, wishing Iggy could appreciate it.

"I wasn't offering advice. I was correcting you."

"Whatever. I was asking Brook, who has seen the film. Wasn't Demetrius under a spell to love Helena?"

Now even Fang looked to Brook. Frankly, he had gotten lost a few times in the longer monologues, and there had been so much magic it was hard to keep all the spellwork straight, so he would definitely concede this one to the resident Shakespeare expert. At her suggestion, he'd been working through a few plays, but he preferred even Hamlet's mad family to this general madness

The resident expert was grinning, pleased that her pupil had picked up on as much in the first viewing. Sort of.

"I'm impressed, Iggy. That's correct," she said. "It isn't clear if the fairy magic influences Demetrius' feelings for Helena, or if, like many of Shakespeare's characters, admittedly, he decides to marry her for kicks."

"He's marrying the girl, and he's under a spell. That," said Iggy, pointing at the screen. "Doesn't sound like kicks to me."

"Well, no." Brook admitted. "And that brings us to a discussion you may or may not be interested in. Shakespeare, if you look at much of his work, didn't have much of a taste for real love. It's often used frivolously, mocked and played with and treated quite irreverently. For a man whose romantic verse is quoted so frequently, he has just as many quotations that discredit it entirely."

A Midsummer Night's Dream was a mess and a half, but Fang had caught on to that, at least. "Like Puck screwing with the fairy queen."

She nodded. "Exactly. For some characters, you would not doubt the depth of their feeling. But for others, Shakespeare sometimes seems to ask, why bother? An awful lot of trouble for heartache and frustration."

"But what about Romeo and Juliet?" Iggy asked, still seeking an answer. "Isn't theirs supposed to be the greatest love story of all time?"

This was definitely deserving of a call or message to Max later tonight. "The greatest love story of all time." And he had pretended to sleep through Nudge's chosen flick of Romeo + Juliet.

"To some, yes." Brook agreed. "And Romeo and Juliet were certainly convinced of their love for each other. But you also have to keep in mind that they essentially fell in love at first sight. The play spans about three days, in which they meet, fall in love, get married, and commit mutual suicide. Remember that Shakespeare asked the audience to suspend disbelief in the theatre for a reason. Sometimes, to believe a story, you have to be a bit gullible."

Iggy hadn't seemed to absorb the last part of Brook's monologue. "Three days?" He repeated.

"Suspend disbelief," Brook reminded him.

"That's beyond disbelief-that's just ridiculous." Iggy was not having it. "Three days? And by the third they were dead. Model relationship. I need to have a talk with Taylor Swift."

"Sometimes you just know, Iggy. Obviously everyone else doubted them, but as long as Romeo and Juliet believed in their love, what was going to stop them?"

"Just some really bad communication errors," Fang muttered. He hadn't intended to make Brook laugh, but laugh she did. He had simply been thinking back to his brief stint at the school in Virginia. They had covered Iggy's "greatest love story of all time." Fang wasn't sure if that was true, but Brook had a point.

"I mean it, though." She continued, still up for debate. "When you know in the very depth of your soul that you do not want to live without someone else, who on earth is going to stop you? If you have that dream, that drive to survive whatever it is life throws your way, when you have that passion within you, then what's stopping you? Some think that they were foolishly youthful. I think their families should have taken a try being a bit more foolish and lighthearted, rather than cold and steeped in tradition. Be as skeptical as you would like, but Romeo and Juliet were not to be confined by their city's conventions."

"Is that how you knew?"

It had slipped out before Fang had even realized he had thought it. He had simply been listening to the passion in Brook's voice, not even consciously considering how she knew this.

Iggy stilled, but Iggy had faded. It was only Brook in Fang's eyes, the way she looked up at him. And he waited. For tears or shouting or something to prove he had stepped way out of line. They didn't talk about Robin. Only the present and sometimes the future. Brook had dealt enough with the past.

But she didn't snarl. She didn't move to hit him or cry or tell him to never mention his father again.

Instead, she did something very odd to Fang: she smiled. A soft turn of the lips, meant only for him. For an instant, he saw her as the teenaged Brook his father would have known. Her face spoke novels of affection, love, and happiness, even worn as it was from difficult years.

That was when he knew.

"Yes, Fang." She murmured. "That was how I knew."

_Day 339_

_Brook, what did you do when you knew you loved Robin? What happened next?_

_ Mom, what happened-_

_ No. Stupid. Ignorant stupid hopeless lunatic. Don't even think about it._

_ Brook, did you initiate things first or did Robin?_

_ Were you scared about losing your friendship?_

_ Brook, I was wondering in what manner you approached your feelings toward Robin (toward my father?) because-_

"Fang, I'm thinking of getting a nose job."

Fang dropped his spoon. The interruption was more of a surprise than the words themselves. To be honest, he had certainly heard more concerning things coming from Iggy's mouth.

Still, Iggy heard the clatter, and his face lit up in a victorious smirk.

"So, what do you think?"

"Are you thinking more Roman or one of those ski-jump ones?"

"I was thinking button."

"Not carrot?"

"Funny."

"I'd like to think so."

"_Boys."_

_Day 360_

"Granola bars?"

"Check," I said, finding the box and tucking them into the front pocket of my bag.

"Disinfectant cream?"

"Check." That went in the easy-access middle pocket. Alongside it, I stuffed gauze, band-aids, alcohol wipes, and a single-use cell phone mom had brought home one day. I wasn't quite sure how it worked, but I think in Ella's crime shows they were called "burn phones." She swore they couldn't be traced, but I supposed if we were in the middle of the kind of emergency that warranted a phone call, tracing would be the least of our worries.

"Heat blanket?"

"We've never traveled with this much before," I groused, searching among mom's pile until I found the nondescript package. Admittedly, it wasn't larger than a little sandwich bag, and it would no doubt be useful in our travels.

"Yeah, well, you've never had a ground team providing for you before." Ella chirped, clearly thrilled to be outfitting the flock for our next adventure. "We just want you to be prepared for anything."

I knew I was being moody and that Ella didn't deserve my ire. I couldn't put my finger on why I had rolled out bed in a foul mood, unless it was the usual worries had been bothering me for the last month. Whether grounded in reason or not, I had nearly snapped at both of them countless times, and it wasn't even noon.

At the moment, I could certainly pinpoint mom's inner doomsday prepper as a cause of irritation. I had taken perfectly good care of the flock thus far. I didn't need any extra gadgets tying us down. We didn't need anyone else.

Well, that was what I kept telling myself. I accepted most of it, anyways. Don't bite the hand that fed you for the past year and all.

"What's next?"

"Bundle of laundered drug money."

I spent a moment scanning the scattered supplies before I realized what she had even said. I incinerated Ella with a glare.

"Très hilaire."

She was amused, if anything. "Look at the effort I'm putting towards making you laugh. I'm making tasteless drug jokes. You'd be great at drug running. Wouldn't even have to go through customs."

"Funny." Not.

I turned back to the mess on the table, pretending that I was actually concerned with the plethora of supplies to choose from.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her put the list down. Instead, I rifled through the half-full backpack, double-checking for myself what I had and if there was anything life-or-death important that I was forgetting. Probably not, because we had survived plenty of life-or-death scenarios with far less.

"Look, Max." She cleared her throat. She wasn't joking anymore. "I don't really know how you're feeling right now, but… I'm really glad you spent your year here. I had a lot of fun."

"Despite the heart attacks?" I reminded her. "The nights where I didn't come home and forgot to call, the times I make you duck-and-cover because I thought-"

"All of it."

"You're very tolerant." Now I was trying to joke. I wasn't leaving yet. I wasn't ready for the heartfelt goodbye scene. Besides, this wasn't _The Return of the King._ I would be back. No tearful Howard Shore music necessary.

Ella nodded, lips pursed. I braced myself. Instead, she pulled a different package out of the stack that mom had left before work. I eyed it warily. It was much too colorful to be anything medical-related, unless it was Dora the Explorer band-aids.

Instead, Ella flashed a packet of water balloons my way.

She didn't have to say anything more.

I dropped the backpack to the table, running for the door as I yelled, "Race you outside!"


	26. Love Vigilantes

**Author's Note, a final letter, just for you:**

**March 29, 2014**

Hello, dear readers. Max's year comes to a close at the end of my own year away. This story took far longer to finish than I had ever anticipated, but I can't help but to feel the timing has a sort opoetic quality. The flock spent a year in different homes (or away from home, if we're talking symbolism), as have I. Any other exchange students out there? I only have about nine months away (277 days), and I've yet to make it back to Just Another Small Town, New England, but I found great satisfaction in, at long last, bringing the flock home.

That, and finally finishing a story on here. Any STWTW readers-just an apology. I can make no promises about finishing that one any time soon. All I can definitively say is that, when I do, it will go through some serious revamping. I began _Through Watching_ six years ago (goodness) and it's certainly not as good as anything with that many words should be.

I'll keep this short and sweet and just a bit sentimental.

If you've gotten this far, this story is dedicated to you, dear reader. If you've been with me from the beginning (March 27, 2011, almost exactly three years ago, eerie), thank you for your reviews and support and enthusiasm. I never would have finished this without you. If you joined in along the publishing way (probable, given, as I said, _three years_), or come along later, after this final chapter is published, thank you as well. This is for you: some story completion. I hope the ending was worth the wait.

This final chapter is for all of you, for sticking with Max, Fang, the flock, Brook, and even me, until the end.

(If you're interested in notes, more parenthetical statements, and a bit of rambling, you're welcome to read the final chapter-cum-author's note. It's for you-take it or leave it.)

Love,

-Ivy

_Day 363_

"Br…"

Fang tried again. "M…"

But the sounds-names-died away in his dry throat. The woman (Brook? Mom? Brook? Mom?) had her back to him. She hadn't even realized he was there, entirely focused on Jane's leg. He had to say something. Last time he had just waited for her to notice him, he had not only waited about forty-five minutes-damn Beethoven symphony-but she had also jumped to the point where he wondered if she wasn't hiding a pair of wings herself.

Frustrated at his own confusion, he cleared his throat. How was he supposed to ask what he had meant to if he couldn't even address her properly? _Idiot_, he reprimanded himself, already backing away. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. What were you thinking?_

It was too late. She straightened, cracking her back with a grimace and still favoring her own leg, but when she turned to face him, her frown slipped away. Even worried about her new horse and impaired by her own injury, she still smiled for him. It was the kind of smile Dr. Martinez always wore whenever she saw Max again, but Fang couldn't think about what that meant.

"Hey," he tried, but the word was soundless. Definitely not nervous, not Fang, never nervous. He swallowed painfully.

"Hey," she wiped her hands-slick with some sort of medicinal goo-on a rag and draped herself against the stall door. "What's up? Thought you were helping Iggy. Big day coming up."

Yeah, he didn't need reminding. Iggy was cooking enough food to feed an entire country.

With a shrug, he admitted: "Apparently I'm more a liability in the kitchen than I thought. I've got a lifetime ban from 'any form of stirring, beating, and whisking' under pain of death."

Brook (Mom?) whistled. "Tough luck. Is there any hope?"

"The light has gone out of my life. A world without whisking-what will I do?"

Her lip twitched. "I can understand your position and the hopelessness that accompanies your shattered dreams, but I feel it my duty to remind you: there are always new dreams."

Banter was certainly easier than what he had finally persuaded himself to discuss. The lifetime ban was very much real. He'd been so absent the past few days, talking himself in and out of this conversation, that Iggy's tasks had been compromised. There had been an ultimatum after he'd burned the third batch of some sort of vegetable tart.

"To be or not to be," he remembered. "Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of Iggy's cruelties, or to take arms against him. And end him. Or something."

Now, she laughed, and as always, the sound broke from her lungs like doves surprised into flight. Neither of them expected it.

"Or something," she repeated. "But a depressed and manic prince? No band of brothers?"

"Sundays are my depressed and manic prince days." He deadpanned. "Didn't I tell you? I'll expect a troupe of actors at dinner, but hold on the poisoned wine, please."

"Might have to talk to the chef about the poison. More up his alley, no?"

"More a Dane than an antique Roman."

With a long look, she turned back to Jane. The horse's leg called, but she gestured him over as she bent back down.

"You're supposed to-" she winced. "Bend at the knees, not the back. But until my leg remembers how to work properly, back cracking it is."

He eased the stall door open. "Want help?"

Through her cropped, curly hair, she glanced up at him. Her lips lifted in a small smile. "I'd best do the leg, but I don't think either of us would say no to company."

Letting himself in, he traced a hand over Jane's long body as Brook/Mom had taught him. The horses had grown on him since the beginning of the year. Their kind eyes and unique personalities would stay with him. Elizabeth's calm power and confidence in the ring. Bingley's duck-footed walk and Crazy's fierce independence. He ran his hands across Jane's scarred, spotted flank. Her ribs shook with a welcoming whicker.

"How's her leg?"

Brook grunted. "No worse."

Jane bore the immobility well, though Mr. Bingley and the others had gone out to pasture, taking advantage of the beginning of summer.

"So," she reached for a new bandage. "_Hamlet._"

It was only the name of the play, but her voice held a series of questions. If someone had told Fang a year ago that he would be discussing Shakespeare with his mother, he would probably have hit them. Now, here he was, wondering if maybe sonnets worked for every girl.

"Yeah. I liked the histories too, but they're so long. It's like, the war isn't going to wait for you to finish talking to yourself. Let's move it."

"The war wasn't exciting? I love the Saint Crispin's Day speech."

He shrugged. "War is overrated." Among other things. Unspoken words felt heavy on his tongue, and as Brook finished with Jane's injury, he continued. "I liked _As You Like It_ a lot. She's clever, Rozalind."

"Quite independent," Brook agreed. "Taking her fate in her hands like that."

Fang felt something warm within him. "I like when she tells her cousin to call her Ganymede-if it's good enough for the gods, it's good enough for her."

"Not a little arrogant?"

"There's a difference between arrogance and confidence," he thought. "But… yeah. Maybe a little."

He smiled, until his stomach churned again, reminding him why he had come. Part of Fang insisted this was madness, more crazy than Hamlet ranting about bodies in the walls, but enough of him remembered the hollowness of abandonment to want to try. Shakespeare would probably say something about Janus: he had to make a choice.

But wasn't this what moms were for?

"Brook?" He said before he could chicken out. Hopefully, his voice sounded stronger than he felt. Instead of daring to look at her, he ran his fingers through Jane's brown mane. Anything but pretend this conversation wasn't enough to have him shaking in his theoretical boots.

If she was surprised-or disappointed-by the use of her name, she didn't show it. She murmured her attention, cleaning up her medical supplies at the horse's feet.

_Now or never, Fang._ _You've been drugged, beaten, and shot. You can do this_.

Max wasn't the only one who could give pep talks. He considered counting down, speaking on _three… two… one… go! _

He started on two.

"How did you and Robin get together?"

Distant and dim, he could hear her heartbeat. It was so soft and human next to Jane's pulsing equine heart, but present all the same. Aside from its stutter, Brook made no indication that the question surprised her.

"Huh," she straightened, frowning. "Do you mean how our relationship became romantic?"

He nodded.

"You know-I haven't thought about that in a while."

_She's forgotten. Brilliant. Well done, Fang. Lost face for nothing. She knows why you asked, doesn't she, she knows._

Hefting the first-aid kit under one arm, she gestured to the door. "Would you open that for me?" He did so, trying desperately not to care as much as he did.

"I told you we were… best friends. Real close, you know. We loved each other, but I think I realized that I was in love with him when-oh, this sounds petty-someone asked him if he had a girlfriend. And I just-" she huffed a laugh, half embarrassed as she returned the kit to its place. "I felt jealous at the idea of him having a girlfriend. At first I told myself it was just because I didn't want anyone compromising our friendship, but that wasn't it. Then he said that he didn't have one and I went home, so irritated and disappointed, that I played angsty Chopin preludes until my parents told me to go to bed. Teenage angst: beautiful thing."

Well, that sounded… vaguely familiar. Minus the angsty Chopin preludes.

"He was the French dude, right?"

Not that he gave a damn about some dead French pianist, but he could feel his breath coming quickly and he needed to stall for time. This was his mother and she was talking about his father and their relationship and maybe…

Nope. Think about the angsty French dude.

"He had French and Polish parents, but he identified as a Pole, actually." Brook settled down on a bale of hay, stretching her leg out before her. "Napoleon-who was French-was invading Poland. Chopin wanted to fight for Poland, but he was declared unfit for service, so he was left to his love affairs and music. Very angsty man."

"Rough," Fang agreed, but part of him still yearned for the story, and Brook did not disappoint.

"I was in denial about how I felt for quite a while. We had such a great friendship; I didn't want to do anything to risk it. What if he didn't feel the same way? What if we broke up and hated each other? You know, just the plot of every other rom-com movie ever."

He waited. _But…_

As if on cue, she sighed. "But then Halloween rolled around. I was Joan Jett. He dressed up as Sid Vicious-the front man of _The Sex Pistols_. You heard of them?"

The flock had never really had an excess of time for a proper musical education, though, Fang supposed, this past year might have changed that. He shook his head.

"He was integral to the punk-rock movement in the seventies. Anarchy, anger, rebellion. Think wild, crazy hair-Robin died his blonde for the occasion, he looked ridiculous-and this awful, _awful_ British accent. I laughed so hard when I saw him."

Even now, some sixteen years later, she laughed. Given their first conversation about Robin-his father, Fang had to tell himself consciously-he had wondered if Brook would cry at all. He was surprised to see that there was no grief as she recounted the story. She had once said something about enjoying the memories of happy times, regardless of the outcome. It made him curious. The woman must have countless stories, details they hadn't even touched on in their year together.

Was it a waste, that he hadn't asked until now?

It had been a precaution. This he knew. It didn't assuage his sudden desire to know more.

"We went out to a party with some friends. And all night-" here she smirked at him, before lowering her voice an octave and mussing up her hair. "'e taulked wi' this 'orrible English accen'. Aul nigh'. Even ahfte' a few drinks, jus' like this."

It was terrible, and as Brook broke off, laughing, Fang found he was grinning. The pictures of Robin in her studio came to his mind, and he tried to imagine him with blond hair and the 'orrible accen'.

"It was late and we walked home together. He wouldn't stop talking. And I don't think I really thought about what I was doing. I'd had a drink or two-neither of us were drunk mind you, but I was a little buzzed-and I just kept thinking…"

She cleared her throat, but he wasn't embarrassed.

"I kept looking up at him, laughing, radiant as a god in the yellow street lights, with his blond hair and dedication to being as ridiculous as possible. I don't remember what he was talking about, but I realized I didn't want to hear that accent anymore. So I… I pulled him to a stop and reached up to touch his face and I kissed him."

"What'd he do?"

"Well," she leaned back against the wall, chuckling. "He stopped talking, for one. Then I realized what I'd done and I started to overreact. I apologized and told him to forget it and he didn't speak-it was the longest moment in my life, I think. Then he said-still 'British'-'wha'eve' you'd like, luv.' We walked home and I couldn't sleep all night. I played more tormented music the next morning until about lunchtime when there was a knock at the door. My parents were out. It was Robin."

Fang waited with baited breath.

"And he told me," she said, voice full of wonder. "That he didn't want to be drunk for something this important. Then he kissed me."

Her mirror-eyes found his, and Fang found he didn't mind to have her staring so openly at him. This was not the stare of an enemy, a scientist intent on observation, a woman fascinated by a repulsive zoo exhibition: this was the soft gaze of a mother. Brook allowed the sight of her grown son to fill her vision, as if by memorizing even the untidy cut of his hair, she could call it to memory even after he had gone.

He found he was doing the same.

"And?" He prompted, afraid for the first time that perhaps if the story ended, the feeling would, as well. "What happened?"

"We were fifteen." She said. "We started dating. My friends asked me if it was weird, but it wasn't. He was my best friend, I had always loved him. This was just a different kind of love."

_A different kind of love._

The barn was full of the summer's evening light. It smelled like hay and horses and warmth and Fang was sitting across from his mother. It couldn't last forever, nothing could, but in that moment, it was enough.

"And how did you know? That you loved him, I mean."

Brook bit her lip and mulled it over. "I think everyone has a different answer for that question. For me, I knew when he was the first person I wanted to talk to. I knew when I perfected a piano piece and wanted to play it for him. I knew when I thought about the future and found it repulsive without him. Two people should never be entirely codependent, but there is great beauty in loving someone in whom you find a home."

Fang considered her words and glanced at the horse calendar on the wall, as if somehow in the midst of their conversation, two days had slipped by. But no-it was still the twelfth of June.

"Last question," he said, and she shook her head.

"You never have to limit your questions," she smiled. "Not with me. I put a great deal of stock in the truth."

The thought was somewhat reassuring, enough to blindside Fang for a moment. He thought he might look up _The Sex Pistols_ online later that night. Did he have a favorite song? What other bands did he listen to? What were his parents-_my grandparents_, he realized-like?

The possibility of more questions (and answers) was not as scary as he thought it would be.

"Okay." It was a comfort, and he believed her. Immediately, though, it didn't manage to sooth the anxiety that clawed at his insides and tried to restrict his words. He stood, fighting the urge to pace. "What do you do if-theoretically-the person in whom you find a home doesn't…"

Her voice was softer than the birdsong outside. "Find one in you?"

"Theoretically."

"Fang," she got to her feet. Each word was heavy with emotion. "Despite all my reading, I… cannot find the words to express the magnitude of the suffering and abject cruelty you have endured. It breaks my heart. If those books are anything to go by, the trouble may never be completely over. There will always be people who decide to act on their hatred and ignorance. But in this matter," her voice was full as last week's moon, light brimming and spilling into the surrounding stars. "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

It was difficult to speak. "Really?"

It took a mere five steps for her to cross to him. His heart fluttered, an animal in a cage, as she reached towards him. Frozen, torn. The need to run, fly, flee warred with the desire to stay right where he was and at last discover the sensation of a mother's touch.

He watched her hand. Was it she who was shaking or he?

As she pressed her warm, callused palm to his cheek, he realized: they both were.

Her smile quivered with emotion. It was raw and warm as a June sunrise. To his horror, he felt something prickle behind his eyes, and yet he did not move.

"Really." She whispered, stroking his cheekbone. "You'll see."

_Day 365_

I couldn't get enough of the kids, and fortunately, they couldn't seem to get enough of the rest of us, either. They each had a million and six stories to tell, every new story reminding them of another "Remember that time when…" Despite this (and how tall they had gotten!) within the first ten minutes it was as if nothing had changed. Gazzy gravitated towards Iggy, and in no time at all their heads were bent in conspiracy, and I reminded them that Brook lived in a wooden house and if anything happened I would gut them like fish.

Brook tried to keep her distance, but once Nudge had gotten her initial squees of delight out of her system, she saw Fang's mother and ran right up to her.

"Hi, Ms. Hufftalen!" She stuck her hand out, grabbing Brook's before the woman had much of a chance to do anything. "My name is Nudge. I'm Fang's sister. Fang!"

Her holler managed to extract Mr. TDH himself from the throes of a Gasman story, and Nudge threw her arms around him. I could see how startled he was, but though he darted a glance at his mother, he touched Nudge's arm. His smile was barely noticeable, if you weren't looking, but it was there.

"You better have told her all about us." Nudge threatened, still wrapped like an adorable leech around Fang. "I've been living in Pennsylvania with my mom and Angel and Gazzy-you've talked to them, haven't you? Ang! Gaz! Introductions, let's move!"

With a long suffering look in Iggy's direction and a tap to his shoulder-already reverting to their tactile communications-the Gasman and Angel approached Nudge. I had a feeling I'd have a new voice of reason in the upcoming months. Well, I wondered, maybe not reason, but at least another voice that would be ready to voice an opinion.

I was so proud of her, in her sparkling Converse sneakers and pink leather jacket.

The kids introduced themselves ("heathens," muttered Total, who had been there, done that) to an enchanted Brook. She couldn't stop smiling, and once Nudge drew her forward, they latched onto her with a curious, child's fascination.

"You look a lot like Fang," the Gasman said. "But you're not as grumpy as he is."

"Watch it, kid," Gasman got a cuff for his cheek, but the both of them were happy, and my heart felt so full to see my family, crowded together once more.

Iggy was more animated than ever, listening and laughing, his all-encompassing grin always present. Angel had grown so, but she had the same innocent smile and polka-dot bows in her hair. She had taken Iggy's hand and had yet to let go. The Gasman was everywhere, talking to everyone, basking in the warmth of being together again. Nudge alternatively glued herself to various flock members. I had been first (no, I hadn't cried. Well, she hadn't noticed.), then Iggy, and now it was Fang's turn. He had a hand in Nudge's hair, listening as she regaled Brook with stories of her own year and asked questions about the horses.

As if he knew that I was watching, he lifted his eyes and found me across the room. Something happened then, for his face split in a rare grin. It was all the more blinding for it. I felt a laugh bubble from my lungs, not because there was anything particularly amusing about the situation, but why not?

My family was together again. Surely that was all that mattered.

"You all right over here?"

I looked down. Goodness, I was even feeling fond of Total. Maybe I had been drugged.

But then, endorphins are a kind of drug, I think, and the chemical of happiness wasn't something that flooded my veins too often.

"Yeah," I said, bending down to shake his paw. "Just happy to see them."

"Together again," he declared, shaking himself with a canine excitement. "All for one and one for all!"

He was quoting something. I had no idea where he had gained his vast deposit of literature and pedantic knowledge given that he was a dog raised first in an underground lab and later in a pack of rag-tag, uneducated birdkids.

"Yeah. Sure." I straightened. Iggy had declared the banquet to be ready. Apparently he'd spent the past week preparing everything. Road food was going to be an adjustment for him.

Brook stepped aside, allowing him to lead the way outside. There was an enormous blanket and picnic set, ready for us to destroy, and my conglomerate of chattering, poking, prodding, yelping, hitting, laughing mutants moved out the door as one. Total yelped-ravenous and all too eager to try Iggy's much-vaunted cuisine-and raced after them. I was a step behind, not about to let my flock enjoy their reunion and food without me, when my eyes fell on Brook in the kitchen doorway.

I stopped because I knew. Her grin-crooked, blinding, painfully like Fang's-stretched across her sun-browned face. To anyone, she seemed a happy observer to our little reunion. But I saw her eyes follow Fang and her hand spread across her stomach, clenching into a fist to keep the nausea away.

It was the look of a woman breaking. Unable to do anything but watch as her family disappeared.

I knew the feeling but had not intended to be caught staring. She swallowed.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I'll just-kitchen."

Before she could shut the door, I darted after her. Acting on impulse, I didn't know what I was going to say until the words had materialized. Only then did I know their truth.

"Brook," I said, and she paused. "I-thank you for taking care of him."

Not that she had done it for me. She didn't say anything. Fortunately, I was used to dealing with her kind.

"And I just wanted to say that I'll do the same."

Her smile wobbled. I recognized that feeling too, and knew I needed to leave quickly. She didn't want me seeing her like this any more than I ever wanted anyone to see me in my weaker moments.

"Oh, Max," she breathed. "I know you will."

I wasn't going to apologize for taking Fang away. I wasn't taking Fang anywhere. His choices were his own, Fang had always made that clear. Still, I liked Brook, and I empathized with her, and I wanted to apologize for how she was feeling. It wouldn't help, but what can I say? I'm only human. Mostly.

Instead, I let her retreat and returned-at long last-to my flock.

"You better have saved some chocolate cake!" I yelled, bounding out onto the deck. Gaz looked up, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Bu' Max," he mumbled around a mouthful of what seemed like just about everything. "You al'ays said dad we hab to eat real food b'fore dessert."

With an enormous swallow, he offered me a drumstick from his plate. Barely able to believe that my Gazzy was here again, offering me food and sass in equal parts, I tackled him.

"You can eat dessert whenever you want," I laughed, mussing his hair and kissing his forehead. "Life's short, right? I want chocolate cake."

"Me, too!" Said Angel, leaping onto the birdkid pile. Gaz _ooph_ed beneath us, giggling like the little nine year old he was. I didn't even care about the imminent and noxious danger, but Gaz managed to restrain himself. I wondered if living in a small apartment for a year had anything to do with it. "I want cake!"

Nudge whipped her hand into the air like we were in a classroom. "Me, three!"

"Then cake it shall be," Iggy exclaimed, releasing the enormous platter from his protection. "Chocolate cake for everyone!"

"I can't eat chocolate," Total reminded us all unnecessarily.

Fang tossed a paper plate at my head. "Chocolate cake for everyone but Total!"

There's something about good food and good friends. I ended up leaning against Fang's shoulder, our wings loose behind us. Angel had thrown herself across our feet, Total in her lap. Gaz was next to Iggy, whose wings had extended around the younger boy, but one of the Gasman's hand stayed locked in his sister's. Nudge had kicked her shoes off, lying on my other side as she popped strawberries in her mouth and let her wings soak up the sun.

A year ago, we had known exactly where we would be, who with, and for how long. There was no longer any of that certainty. I had eaten enough to feed an army, but I would be hungry again in a week and there was no telling if there'd be enough food then. The sun would set and clouds would roll in. I had no idea what to do or how to fight for the future and win.

But I knew we'd be facing that uncertainty and fighting for a better world together. That certainty was more comfort than any warm meal could ever be.

We were a family, and at long last, we were together again.

After our late lunch, Angel asked Brook to give them a tour of the farm. She easily obliged, as at ease with the kids as she was with her students. Fang, Iggy, and I followed at a distance, listening to their questions and Brook's ever-patient responses. ("Have you ever been in a rodeo?" "Have you ever ridden a cow?" "Can you ride a cow?" "Shut up, Gasman, why ride a cow when you can ride a horse?" "You shut up. Brook, can you shoot a gun? Are you like a cowboy? Do you have spurs?" "Do you have a John Wayne hat?" "How fast can you go? Faster than me?" "Why don't you have any baby horses?")

I had difficulty getting my heart rate under control when my hand accidentally brushed Fang's. I purposefully didn't look up, but I could feel his eyes on me like I could feel the sun.

We ate, flew, ate again, revisited to the barn, and back to the house, but after everyone's final serving of chocolate cake, energy began to fall. By the time I had returned with a glass of water, they had made themselves comfortable on the living room floor.

I couldn't stop watching my flock, looking at them-at us-all bundled together in a mountain of blankets and pillows and feathers. Like putting the last board in place on a new home, I finally felt whole.

"Yo, Thing One and Thing Two," I kicked the offending lumps. "If you unravel that blanket for a fuse I'll burn you both at the stake."

Iggy smirked in my general direction. "What if I said God told me to do it?"

"Yeah," Gaz agreed with angel eyes. "You'd have to sanitize us or something! That's what happens when people hear the voice of God."

"Sanctify," I corrected, looking around. "And no. Then I'd just burn you for heresy, too. Where's Fang?"

Iggy used a certain finger to point at the table and I made sure to step on him as I waded through the birdkid puddle. A folded note sat on the coffee table, one word scratched across the front in a messy, familiar scrawl.

_Max._

I flipped it open to find one more.

_Outside?_

He could easily have left such a message with any of the others-save Nudge, who ha passed out in a square of the setting sun's light-but I was glad he didn't. A final letter. Smiling, I pocketed it.

"We'll be outside," I slipped on my shoes. Bent in conference, Gaz and Ig made no indication that they had heard. Total wruffed in disdain.

"Worry not, Max," he lifted his head with such dignity, it was as if he didn't realize Angel was transferring her hair ribbons to his fur. "I will ensure that order is maintained."

"Right. Thanks, Total. Lookin' quite regal, there."

"I prefer 'presidential,'" he corrected, stilling at Angel's word. She was trying to braid the short tuft of hair on the top of his head. More power to her. "The power of the many will always overcome the tyranny of the one."

After a moment, I decided this probably wasn't a threat towards my Maxocracy.

"Glad to hear it. Back soon."

This was enough to get Iggy to look up. With a salacious wink, he sang: "Stay safe!" I so wished he could see, so I could return the finger-pointing favor.

Instead, I decided it was warm enough for just my tank top, slipped on my sneakers, and headed outside.

He stood just off the porch, looking to the sun as it slipped off into the distance. It bathed the whole prairie in golden light.

"Hey," I dropped off the edge and walked up to him. He glanced at him.

"You know," I said, giving him a nudge. "I might just miss our letters."

He tried to elbow me, but I darted out of reach, laughing. "Completely understandable." He said. "Anyone would miss the chance to read my brilliant prose at any opportunity."

"Your ego has no bounds," I reminded him.

"Only on good days."

I followed at his side as he started to walk. Though the path meant nothing to me, he clearly had somewhere specific in mid. We wandered up and down the hills, heather tickling my calves, until we reached a higher ridge. Once we climbed up and settled on the edge, I recognize the point at which-piñata'd and rattled from the train ride-I had first seen Brook's home.

I tossed my feet over the edge, kicked my heels against the soil.

"Great view," I said unnecessarily. He didn't comment on it.

"You ready?"

Itex. Multi-billion dollar corporations. Levels of corruption deeper than space. The exploitation of humans for some madman's deluded "brighter future." On a June evening, I didn't want to think about any of it.

"It's funny," I said, not laughing. "I've spent so long thinking about all of us being together again that I didn't really stop to think about what that meant. Everyone's had a home for a year, and you can see how happy they are." The words began to spill forth, uncertain as our future. I staggered upright, unable to sit still as the weight of tomorrow coursed through my veins. "I told you all that-if you wanted to-you could stay. Everyone came back, but how long is that going to last? We've got a company's name and a seemingly impossible task. We don't know where we're sleeping or what we're eating. What am I doing to them? I don't know what I'm doing. I'm a monster, making them stay with me. People need homes. Kids need homes. We need homes."

A warm weight settled on my arm as I lashed my wings. I turned, seeking answers or maybe just something to hit. He took my shoulders, holding me steady, and with his undivided attention, my words drained away.

I wasn't thinking about everything my mom and Ella had told me, not even about the beach or the cave. I thought only that Fang was close enough for me to feel his breath on my face. Could he hear my heart, stammering away with arrhythmic betrayal?

"Max?" His voice was serious, and suddenly, I was afraid. "Do you remember when we talked about Zeus and Athena? You said I'm only at home when I fly."

Not sure what my voice would sound like if I spoke, I nodded.

"You were wrong."

His words carved deeper than an Eraser's claws.

He wanted a home.

Of course he did. For a moment I had thought… well, it didn't matter what I had imagined. I knew now. Unable to be so close to him, barely able to breathe, I ripped away. I had spent the past three hundred and sixty five days waiting for these words, living in perpetual fear that the next time I heard his voice he would tell me that he was done running. Reunited, I had imagined myself selfishly safe.

_You should be happy_, I tore at myself. _You should have been waiting for this_. If I really gave a damn about my family I would let them continue living in peace while I alone endured the dangers of my mission. I should be ecstatic that he wanted to stay with Brook. He would be alive and whole if and when I completed my mission; maybe he'd even know how to ride a horse. He'd learn about his past and maybe even go to a real school. If he stayed, he would have a future. He'd be safe. If I really loved him, that should be what I wanted.

And yet I felt the world around me splintering. One more word and I would shatter.

"You want…" I whispered, lurching away from his outstretched hand. _Get a grip on yourself, Max. _"I mean, that's okay. Fantastic. She's your mom, after all. I'm just surprised. I didn't realize…" Oh God, I couldn't breathe. "I guess it makes sense. She's incredible. Great mom. Great. Super."

His dark eyes flashed, but I was too dizzy to resist when he took my hands in his. The pressure of his strong grip grounded me. This was why he asked to meet outside. He was my… my friend, and he knew this would hurt, and he knew I wouldn't want to be weak in front of the flock.

And then he took another step closer, staring into my eyes. He was almost smiling, and I wondered where he could find amusement in this situation.

My heart lurched as he murmured my name. One hand reached up, more gentle than I could believe, and brushed a stray hair behind my ear.

"Max," he murmured. "No. I'm not at home when I'm with Brook. I'm at home when I'm with _you._ Whether that's in Arizona or Montana or Horse Creek, Wyoming, it's you."

He let that sink in, voice soft even as the words grew in power. There was a level of awe in his voice, as if he were recounting something he had only recently discovered, an elusive, stunning wonder that he could hardly understand.

"I'm at home when we're flying and I'm at home when we're in some godforsaken cave in the middle of nowhere. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not leaving? How could I?" A laugh broke from his lungs.

"You're home, Max. You're irritable, irrational, fierce as they come. You're the bravest person I know, a pain in the ass, and rude as hell, when you feel like it. You're blunt, impulsive, arrogant. You can kick an Eraser's chest in and still give Angel hugs and braid Nudge's hair. You're tough enough to survive anything and still give Iggy textured shells to feel or tell Gazzy stories to help him sleep. You talk to me about everything-the little things that make you laugh, even the things that make you cry. We find the tallest trees and stay up all night, pointing out constellations, and go flying just because. And that's where I want to be. Not in Montana. Not in Arizona. Just next to you. Now can you try to remember at least a little of what I said and stop thinking I'm going to leave you?"

I put down my irrationality to the minor heart failure I had suffered just seconds before. His face-with its slightly crooked, once broken nose, the little twitches and ticks that spoke volumes even when he didn't say a word, his eyes, more familiar than my own-was mere inches away from mine.

Fang had clearly made his decision, for better or for worse. It was high time I made mine.

One of his hands still cupped the side of my head as I warned him: "I'm going to try something, and I have no idea how to do it."

Such an apparent non-sequitor, he frowned, lips moving to ask, when I reached for his face and kissed him.

I pulled myself towards him with a desperation borne of finally, finally giving in. I didn't know what I was doing, but it felt right, and as his arms reached around me, I pulled back just enough to soften it and trace his lips with mine.

My eyes were still open. In the movies they never are. His were as well. We found ourselves staring at each other, _kissing_ each other, and I broke into a grin. It didn't matter. I could feel him smiling as he kissed the corner of my mouth, my jaw, and my mouth once more.

After a time, we paused. He held my head between his hands, and leaning down, he pressed his forehead to mine. We were both breathing quickly, and I felt warm all over.

"Well," I cleared my throat. His lips had reddened. I had meant to say something but forgot what it was.

"Looking for a cliff?"

That got me. "No. But we should probably practice more."

That made him smile. I winced. "I didn't mean that it wasn't nice. It was more than nice. It was-" he was outright grinning now. Idiot. "I just meant that, ugh shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

So I grabbed his shirt collar and kissed him again.

How could I shiver at his touch, and yet feel like a minor sun? I didn't think, just let my hands trace his shoulders and neck, and judging by the sound he made as I wound my fingers in his hair, that wasn't a bad move, either.

"No, you're right." He said, breathless, as we broke apart again. "Practice is always good."

I hit him, but Fang-_Fang!_-was grinning like a madman, and instead of retorting, he just held me to him. He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. I turned my ear to his chest, listening to the not-so-steady thrum of his heartbeat as a warm darkness fell.

"I'm not leaving you," he reminded me. "Not now. Not ever. You're home, Max."

I thought about my flock, dozing off in a well-fed heap in the distant house. Its windows glowed with welcome yellow light, but I felt no desire to return, not just yet.

I was in the arms of my best friend. Warm, full of hope, I wondered if perhaps now was the time for those three words. But no, they could wait a while yet. For now, there was no rush. We had come home.

_Day Who Cares Because I'm Not Counting Down to Anything Anymore!_

_AKA_

_The Epilogue_

I tightened the straps of Angel's new backpack, positioned just between her wings. She insisted she was old enough to carry it by now, even pointing out the six inches her wings had grown in our year apart. Like we all were, she was growing up. I was still having trouble accepting that.

"Good," I knelt in the grass before her, fiddling unnecessarily. "Remember now-if it gets too heavy-"

"I'll tell you, Max. I promise." She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. Seven now. I'd have to get used to that, too. Still, with her halo of curls and gentle eyes, she'd always be my baby. There was a smear of sun block above her eyebrow, and I rubbed it in with my thumb. Apparently skin cancer was another thing we needed to worry about. Iggy, who burned just by thinking about strong sunlight, had headed Project Skin Care. As long as it kept the sunburns and inevitable whining at bay, I was in.

Total had also jockeyed for his own backpack, but his bodily proportions weren't very aerodynamic. It was enough work for him to keep his own stubby terrier body airborne.

I shuffled my wings, letting the wind slip through my feathers. It beckoned, tempting me toward the open Montana sky and the world beyond. We had timed our departure perfectly: the morning dawned bright, sunlight spilling across the clear skies. Cool wind turned the rippling grass into an endless, golden sea. The onset for the next phase of our lives.

Nudge was stretching, part of a new regimen she insisted we should integrate into our daily lives to "prevent strain and muscle fatigue." So long as we had time, I couldn't find anything wrong with it. Gazzy had started beep boxing (a new and quickly tiresome talent) along with her movements, turning her exercises into something he probably would have described as "a robot dancing ballet," which she did not find half as amusing as he did.

I stifled a laugh as Iggy shook Brook's hand.

"Thanks," he shrugged shamelessly. "Probably wasn't easy, adjusting to so much awesome in one house."

"And yet, somehow I managed."

It was nice to hear their jokes. I wondered if there had been any resentment on Iggy's behalf, at the beginning of the year, given the fiasco in Virginia with his own parents. We hadn't talked about it. Fortunately, it didn't seem that way now. He and Brook had established an entirely different relationship from she and Fang-probably tempered by the fact that there were no mutual genetics to complicate feelings-and yet it had a different strength. I'd been lucky, as far as my genetics were concerned, but that didn't change my own thoughts on the matter. You choose your family.

"Thank _you_," she said. "For laughing and feeding me and not burning my house down, as last June I was informed in no uncertain terms that it was a definite possibility."

"Safety first!" He said, fingers crossed behind his back. "Certainly more important than the size and grandiosity of the explosion."

The Gasman coughed. Nudge took the opportunity to whap him with a wing.

Brook _hmm_ed, rightly skeptical (I knew she was smart), and Iggy engulfed her in a quick bro hug.

"Ready?" I asked as he walked over, ruffling his wings open. He stretched like a cat in the sunlight, nearly taking out Total with his efforts. It was probably intentional.

"Let's get down to business." He clapped his hands together. "Gotta defeat the huns. Hope they didn't send me daughters when I asked for sons."

"Hope you're quoting a movie and not expressing your true views."

He crossed his heart. "No worries, Wonder Woman. It's just a Disney classic. What did you spend your year doing?"

But I didn't answer, because there was one flock member left who had yet to say his goodbyes. I remembered Brook's smile from the day before and wondered if she was regretting this after all. A year after finally meeting her son, here she was, saying goodbye once more.

Fang left my side, stopping a small but set distance away from her. Every time I saw them together, I noticed more similarities. They even held themselves in the same way. He was taller, but she had the same proud set of her narrow shoulders as she gazed at him.

He had repeated something she had said once, and it returned to me now. Separations were painful, but we both knew from experience that ultimately, the pain was endurable so long as the memories remained.

I didn't know how Fang felt about this finale, though I could say definitively that public displays of any type of affection were not his idea of a good time.

Neither of them spoke, and the silence was long and heavy. They seemed to be absorbing each other, packaging the memory for later when her empty house rattled and our grueling future pressed uncomfortably from all sides.

Their voices jumbled as they broke the silence in unison. Brook gestured him to speak first. I watched him swallow, but I knew he didn't want to hold my hand to get through this. This was something he had to do alone.

"I've got your email," he said quietly. "Can I write?"

A small shudder ran through Brook, and her smile started to wobble a little, but her voice was strong and sure as she murmured: "Of course. As much or as little as you'd like."

He nodded, and for a moment, that seemed to be it. Then, drawn by the same strings, they both spoke again. This time, he nodded her on.

"I'm glad you came." She took a small step forward. "I… thank you."

She was Fang's mom, after all. His wings twitched nervously, rigid as his shoulders. "Me, too."

Once more, they fell into mutual silence. As the wind picked up, she nodded to herself. That appeared to be all. Wary as he was, I wondered how long it had taken for them to even hold a conversation. I wished we could give them some privacy, but we were getting ready for take off, and as soon as they finished, we would be leaving.

Brook knew this, and she moved away. It seemed to take all her strength. "'Bye, then."

She knew how reserved he was and clearly didn't want to push it. Steeling herself, she managed a small wave. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to say something. It wasn't my place, but it didn't feel _right._

Then, as she doubled back to the house, something happened. A minor miracle took place in the foothills of northern Montana:

"Mom?"

If I hadn't seen his lips move, I wouldn't have believed it. As if enchanted, she turned around once more. Eyes glistening, she murmured his name.

It took two easy strides for him to cross the grass, and with a child's desperation, Fang wrapped his arms around his mother.

The nervous twitching of his wings calmed as her thin arms wound their way around his back, clasping just above the wing joint, as naturally as if hugging winged kids was an everyday occurrence for her. Head bent next to hers, they held each other, and I wondered how long they had both been waiting for this moment. Maybe fifteen years.

She murmured something into his shoulder, and I didn't strain myself to hear.

After a time, they drew apart. Seeing how content they were, I found I was swallowing a lump in my own throat.

"Did the Fangalator just indulge in an expression of affection?" Iggy "whispered." I elbowed him, all the response he needed. He left the teasing at that, though, perhaps, I realized, as glad as I was to see-well, know, in his case-that the two had come to terms with each other.

"I'll write," Fang said again, and his mom nodded, placing a hand to her son's cheek. He didn't flinch.

"I'll keep you updated." She promised. "Is it too clichéd to remind you to be careful?"

He saluted, eliciting a laugh from her. The glow of her blissful eyes was enough to make Nudge take my hand, and to make me need it. She looked to him like a believer looks to God, like a blind man turns toward the sound of a piano, like a child first discovering the sea.

"Any plans?" He asked. "You know, now that you'll actually have time again."

Any awkwardness between the two had dissipated, as if he really had grown up with her. "Actually," she touched his hand. "I was thinking of calling my parents. Figure fifteen years is long enough to hold a grudge."

"I thought you hated them."

"Hatred is exhausting." She said. "We disagreed about a lot of things, but not everything. Dad loves Chopin. Mom likes teaching."

"Well, at least she hasn't married your uncle."

While it didn't make sense to me, Brook laughed again. "Small blessing. I don't even have an uncle."

His small smile said everything he couldn't. It was more than enough. With a final, maternal touch to his shoulder, she stepped away.

"You're always welcome here. All of you," she waved to the kids. "I've got too many pianos and horses for just me."

"I'll keep it in mind," I promised as Fang returned. His hands were in his pockets, lips still upturned in his small, private smile that hinted at a much greater inner happiness. I took a chance and perched on my toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. He meant the world to me, and his happiness outshone the sun.

("Why is Nudge squealing? What's going on? Was there another display of physical affection? You guys don't tell me anything!")

Brook, for her part, caught Fang's eye and winked. I looked to him, extending my wings to their full length and sweeping them blissfully-finally-through the June air. Euphoric with my freedom and my family, I felt I could soar on my elation alone.

"Ready?" I asked him.

He took my hand. "Ready."

And we rose up into the sky.

…


	27. Author's Note

**This is a huge author's note that you're absolutely not obligated to read.** **Why? Because I feel like after the amount of time I left my readers hanging you deserve a bit more, if you're interested. I'll make subsections to make it easier:**

**Music**

**Inspiration**

**Review Responses **(you know you're curious about those)

**Fair warning: it's ridiculously long.**

**Is it clichéd? Sickly sweet? Too bad. Fly on, dear hearts. –Ivy**

...

**1. Music**

Perhaps too late to set the mood for the piece, but as music became such an integral part of the story, I thought I'd supply a bit of a soundtrack. This is certainly no comprehensive list of composers or music, and certainly a week from now I'm sure I'll remember a different melody that should have made it here.

If you're interested, give 'em listen. They're all on YouTube. If you decide to, I can only recommend a full listening experience. Put them on your iPod. Put in your earphones. Lie down on the floor, perhaps in the sunlight or the darkness of your room. Just listen.

While all are beautiful and worth a go (if you're interested, no pressure, of course), the bolded ones hold a special place in my heart.

**Beethoven: **There was a flash mob of Beethoven's 9th, and if you Google _"Som Sabadell flashmob Beethoven ninth symphony" _it will be the first result. It's like a five-minute clip but it brings tears to my eyes every time.

**The Raindrop Prelude** is also special-there's a story behind the piece. Chopin was living, ill and relatively alone, in the Valldemossa Monastery. It was a rainy, dreary day, and though they encountered troubles on the road, his friend Amandine Dupin wrote the following of his arrival and visit:

"_We hurried, knowing how our sick one would worry. Indeed he had, but now was as though congealed in a kind of quiet desperation, and, weeping, he was playing his wonderful us come in, he got up with a cry, then said with a bewildered air and a strange tone, "Ah, I was sure that you were dead." When he recovered his spirits and saw the state we were in, he was ill, picturing the dangers we had been through, but he confessed to me that while waiting for us he had seen it all in a dream, and no longer distinguishing the dream from reality, he became calm and drowsy. While playing the piano, persuaded that he was dead himself, he saw himself drown in a lake. Heavy drops of icy water fell in a regular rhythm on his breast, and when I made him listen to the sound of the drops of water indeed falling in rhythm on the roof, he denied having heard it."_

_NAME, COMPOSER: (The following all instrumental)_

**To A Wild Rose (Op. 51, No. 1), Edward MacDowell**

**Ninth Symphony, L.V. Beethoven**

Waltz in E Flat Major, WoO 84, Beethoven

Pathetique Sonata Op. 13, Beethoven

Moonlight Sonata, Beethoven

**Ave Maria, Bach/Gounod**

Prelude in E minor Op. 28 No. 4, Chopin

**Raindrop Prelude, Chopin**

Fantaisie Impromptu, Chopin

**Nocturne #20 in C Sharp Minor, Op. Posthumous, Chopin**

**Alla Turca, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart**

Arabesque I (1888), Claude Debussy

**Poema Romana I, George Enescu**

Arpeggione Sonata D821 for Cello & Piano, Franz Schubert

**Love Me, Yiruma**

**It's Your Day, Yiruma**

**Kiss the Rain, Yiruma**

**May Be, Yiruma**

**Peer Gynt-Morning Mood, Edvard Grieg**

**Wishing, Deborrah Wyndham **(also check her ragtime music, lots of fun)

**Samwise the Brave, Howard Shore**

Canon in D, Pachabel

I also listened to a plethora of non-instrumental music while writing. While my music taste varies widely and I explored quite the variety in the three years it took to write these 200 pages, I'll list a few memorable ones here:

(Bolded ones are particularly important)

_**Love Vigilantes**__, Such Great Heights,_ Iron and Wine

_**This Is Why We Fight,**_ The Decemberists

_Transatlanticism_, _I'll Follow You Into the Dark,_ Death Cab for Cutie

_Lullaby, __**Easy Silence**__,_ _Cowboy Take Me Away, _Dixie Chicks

_Lovers Eyes, For Those Below, __**Awake My Soul,**__ White Blank Page, Broken Crown, Home _Mumford and Sons

Who am I kidding all Mumford and Sons I love Mumford and Sons basically Mumford and Sons is what it sounds like when you stumble upon the muses in the woods and are entranced, unable to escape the power of the words

_Hear You Me_, Jimmie Eat World

_**You Told the Drunks I Knew Karate**_**,** Zooey van Goey

_**You Make Loving Fun, **__Don't Stop_, _Gypsy, Go Your Own Way, _Fleetwood Mac

Basically the whole _Rumours _album

_**Home**_, Gabrielle Aplin

_Hazy_, Rosi Golan (feat. William Fitzsimmons)

_Goodnight_, William Fitzsimmons

_**Black Balloon,**__ Better Days,_ Goo Goo Dolls

_**I Miss You**_**,** Blink-182

_Somewhere Only We Know_, Lily Allen

_**Here Comes the Sun**__, In My Life, Blackbird,_ The Beatles

_**Samson**_, _On the Radio, Eet, How, Firewood,_ Regina Spektor

_**Can't Help Falling in Love,**__ You and I, Mountain and the Sea,_ Ingrid Michaelson

_Gimme Sympathy (Acoustic),_ Metric

_Autoclave_, The Mountain Goats

_**Home**_, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

_**I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face,**_ Marlene Dietrich

_**Skinny Love,**_ Bon Iver

_**Flaws (Acoustic**__), Pompeii, Icarus, Bad Blood,_ _Of the Night, _Bastille

Basically siren music. Bastille all day erryday.

_One Song Glory,_ Aaron Tveit

_**Details in the Fabric,**_ Jason Mraz

_**Bubble Toes,**__ Banana Pancakes,__** Better Together**__, _Jack Johnson

PS if you're not into Jack Johnson I highly suggest him. He's perfect for everything (in my humble opinion) but particularly when it's summer and you're going to the beach.

_Get Up, Please Don't Go, _Barcelona

_Sunday Best, Twenty Years, Sweet and Low, _Augustana

_**Your Song**_**,** _I Know You Care, _Ellie Goulding

_**Bottom of the Sea**_**, **_Romeo and Juliet, Sooner Surrender, Bulletproof Weeks, Come On Get Higher, to the Beat of Our Noisy Hearts, _Matt Nathanson

_**King and Lionheart**_**,** Of Monsters and Men

_**Bonfire Heart**_**,** James Blunt

_Safe and Sound, Love Story, Breathe, Ours, _Taylor Swift

I did knock T-Swift in the chapter with the Shakespeare references (I maintain the belief that _Romeo and Juliet_ is not the way to seduce anyone. For the record, I would fall for William Butler Yeats or e.e. cummings poetry. If anyone's interested.) but I love Taylor Swift's music and you can fight me on that.

_At Least I'm Not As Sad (As I Used to Be)_, fun.

_The Weary Kind, _Ryan Bingham

_This_, _The Parting Glass, _Ed Sheeran

_Thinking of You, _Katy Perry

_**The Beacon,**__ Almost Lover_, A Fine Frenzy

_Make You Feel My Love_, Adele

Apply everything I said about Bastille and Mumford and Sons to Adele as well because je l'aime.

_**It's Time**_**,** Imagine Dragons

_Marching On_, One Republic

_She Is Love_, Parachute

_Payphone,_ Maroon 5

_Fallin' For You, Bubbly_, _What I Never Told You, _Colbie Caillat

_Holidays in the Sun, God Save the Queen, Anarchy in the UK_, The Sex Pistols

_**Child of the Wild Blue Yonder**__, _John Hiatt

_Take it Easy, _The Eagles

That's a ridiculous amount of music. I love all of them-you got your angsty song, your bubbly cheerful songs, your love songs, et cetera, et cetera.

**2. Inspiration **

_Why Montana?_ Because I've always wanted to go to Montana. I've had the opportunity to pass through this past August, but I'd like to go back. Something about the vast expanses has always called to me. I think I first read that Christopher Paolini (author of the _Eragon_ series) lives there and drew inspiration for Alagaesia from the dramatic landscape, and I thought, that's a landscape I'd like to see. I'm not sure how Brook Hufftalen manifested, but like Athena was born from Zeus' head, Brook was born from Montana, music, and horses. She grew from there.

…

_What's up with all the books?_ Fang and Max obviously had a lot of down time, once survival was no longer their primary concern. I'd like to think that reading/watching movies is something they enjoy in their leisure time and that they'd talk about it if separated. I mentioned series or books that I thought would resonate with them, ones that share similar themes to the _Max Ride_ series, or merely ones I thought Max and Fang (or the other characters who mention them) would enjoy. _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_ by Rick Riordan_, Eragon _by Christopher Paolini, (I think I wrote about _Eragon… _maybe?), _Harry Potter_ by Her Highness J.K. Rowling_, An Abundance of Katherines_ by John Green, _To Kill A Mockingbird_ by Harper Lee, _The Crucible_ by Arthur Miller, _Charlotte's Web_ by E.B. White (classic!)… I don't need to recount all of them. If you've read any, I'd love to talk about them. If you haven't and you're looking for something to read, they come with the highest recommendations. When Ella mentioned Manga I had the Naruto series in mind because I love that series and if you like Fang's character you'll definitely like Sasuke. Dark and brooding plus mad ninja skills and a dark past? *swoons*

That said if you're on a fanfiction bend I completely understand that too. Last summer before my first AP English class (before I left for aforementioned exchange year) my English teacher asked if I'd read any good books over the summer and all I managed to stutter was "Uh… Dorian Grey?" Because I'm pretty sure she wouldn't count 50,000 word Marauder's-era Harry Potter fanfiction as legitimate literature. (Her loss. _The Life and Times _or _The Shoebox Project_, anyone?)

…

_What's a Market Basket?_ I realize only now that I mention this supermarket a few times, but I think it's only a New England chain. I don't think they exist in Montana. Not that important but I thought I'd acknowledge it.

…

_What's the story about the stars that Brook mentions in chapter 24?_ I based this idea off of the _Warriors_ series by Erin Hunter, which I read from second through ninth grade. They deteriorate pretty quickly after the second series (in my opinion), but I still have a great deal of fondness for them. The idea is the same, but the characters are cats, not people, who believe their ancestors reside in the Milky Way.

…

Any other questions/comments and feel free to shoot me a PM or something.

And finally…

**Review Responses**

I have no idea how I am to respond to you all at this point. I want to say something because I finished for you, and I wouldn't have done it without you. Whether you left one anonymous review, multiple comments, or entire essays, you've inspired me from day one. So first: thank you.

A master list of you valorous knights:

So kudos to… (drum roll please!)

Hellewise14 (with 10 reviews, my dear! 10!)

FoReVeR-TwIrLeR/Amber (with 12 reviews, my old friend. Your familiar voice was always wonderful to hear.)

JealousMindsThinkAlike (you reviewed 19 times-thank you. Seeing your name with neary every chapter was always encouragement to keep writing.)

dancingonmytoes13 (nine reviews, dear heart, and such wonderful words. Thank you.)

IwriteUread

Katielaine

aries4me

XxWishingForWingsxX

AmberJ11

xXxIamProbablyJustPlottingxXx

AthenaFangGranger26

Fishmunk

the-academy-isn't

MaxRide77

wolfhead

zammielicious98

UnderTheTableAndDreaming

BCK-forever

storyteller1425

musikfreakmeg

AC

Winged Chick

Abby-Jade-Love

…

Your words meant (and still mean) the world and more. Very often when I was having trouble writing/going through issues/etc. it was your encouragement that got me back to writing, even if it still took me forever and a half to update. This is to each and every one of you: thank you. If you logged in when reviewing I'll try to send you each an individual PM, so check your inboxes for more words of praise and endless adoration.

Maybe this endless author's note is a bit much, but I did want to say something after everything we've been through together. My first completed multi-chaptered fic! Only took three years!

But we made it.

And if you're new and reading this later-thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.

So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, goodbye!

-Ivy


End file.
